


Chasing the Storm

by hsvh



Series: Doppelgängers [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Dragonologist Draco Malfoy, F/M, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 223,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hsvh/pseuds/hsvh
Summary: With Hogwarts behind them, Harry's Auror training kicks off, and Draco and Dagmar start their new life in Norway. While Harry races Voldemort to whatever he's seeking, Narcissa is held captive in the heart of the answer.The webs of past and present begin to tangle and interweave. What hasn't changed is that everybody has secrets—some that end up costing more than others.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s), Narcissa Black Malfoy/Nott Sr., Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Series: Doppelgängers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652104
Comments: 56
Kudos: 23





	1. The First Days of the Rest of their Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! I'd love to know what you think.

“Watch where you’re aiming that thing.”

Draco laughed as Dagmar shifted more to the side. He struggled to pop a cork from a wine bottle. A drink to celebrate the end of their time at Hogwarts came to mind late in the day they returned to Malfoy Manor, but seemed obvious once it did.

The cork came out with no broken windows or injuries. Dagmar held out the glasses they’d collected from the dining room and scoffed as Draco topped them nearly to the rim. He set the bottle down on his desk and took the glass Dagmar handed him.

“Cheers,” Draco said.

Clinking their glasses together was dangerous because of how full they were. They did so carefully before taking a sip. Draco was hard-pressed to keep his eyes off Dagmar, although this was far from a new phenomenon today. Everything from the way loose, blonde hairs framed her face to how the neck of her shirt sat low enough for a peek at her collarbone enthralled him. They hadn’t really managed to separate themselves since coming home, and Draco couldn’t see it happening anytime soon.

Draco’s heart fluttered anew as Dagmar stepped closer and rested her head against his shoulder. Her hair was still damp from the shower they’d taken together. With his nose against her head, Draco inhaled slowly and deeply.

“I’m still trying to digest that we’re never going back,” Dagmar said. “I’m going to miss Hogwarts.”

“Me too. It was just starting to feel good there, the last year.”

“Makes me wish we’d found each other sooner, but oh well.” Dagmar nuzzled him. “I’m just happy we did at all.”

“Have you realized it’s going to be a year tomorrow all this started?”

Dagmar lifted her head. “Is it?”

“Maybe even a year yesterday, actually.” Draco sipped his wine. “It was the last day of exams I pulled you aside and told you you’d be coming here with me.”

“Oh ja, I remember how sympathetic you were to my situation.”

If Dagmar wasn’t smiling in jest, Draco would worry she held it against him. He felt bad anyway, for he knew he’d upset Dagmar by telling her about her manor raid. He then left her to deal with it all on her own. He might have stuck around had they been at all close, but Draco was realistic too about how he used to be. It wasn’t likely.

“What was that thing you said the day we went for a walk down the road and talked about our arrangement?” Draco asked. “Changed behaviour is the best apology?”

“You certainly managed that.” Dagmar slipped an arm around Draco’s waist. “I think everybody felt it this year. Even Potter, and that’s saying something.”

“Maybe.” Draco shrugged. “You heard what his house elf said about me when we met Auntie Andie and Uncle Ted. ‘Master doesn’t like him. Master doesn’t trust him’.”

“Things have changed since then, haven’t they?” Dagmar asked. “You two seem to get on all right. You talk, at least.”

“I don’t know that it means he trusts me, but that’s all right.” Draco didn’t feel any loss from it. “I get it, I guess. If I can change my mind once about things, I could a second time too. Still takes time to develop _that_ kind of trust.”

Dagmar rubbed his shoulder. “Potter’s going to be an Auror too. I think to be an Auror, you have to be paranoid about everything.”

“Potter’s perfect, then.”

The two of them snorted before taking another sip of their wine. Dagmar grinned afterward and led Draco back to the bed by her free hand. Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to go again quite yet, but when Dagmar laid down and set her wine glass up on the windowsill, she seemed more keen on some lazy snogging. She was content to limit her touch to Draco’s face, neck, and shoulders.

“It’s weird to think a year ago I was laying over in the other room, stressing out about my manor,” Dagmar told him after they settled. “I didn’t sleep a whole lot that night. Didn’t help I was in a strange place, either.”

“It was the next day my mum told me about our arrangement.” Draco paused. “Did I ever tell you she gave me rings?”

“You might have mentioned it.”

“I know for sure I never showed them to you. Is that something you’re interested in seeing?”

Dagmar lit up. “Definitely.”

They’d remained in Draco’s bedside table. After how he and Dagmar had left last summer, Draco wished later on he’d packed them. They didn’t matter that much to him, anyway. Draco intended to marry Dagmar regardless, and he could certainly afford rings on his own. The only reason Draco would even care enough now to bother with these ones was for his mum. Draco had turned his back on a lot of family traditions in the last year, but since this one worked for him, he would honour it.

Dagmar tucked some loose hair behind her ear, smiling eagerly as Draco budged back over on the bed. He hadn’t taken much more than a glance at Dagmar’s ring after his mum gave them to him, but he could see why Dagmar’s eyes widened. It was quite pretty with its platinum white band and weaving pattern. Inside each weave was a black diamond. An emerald was set in the centre. Draco hadn’t noticed before, but the first piece with just black diamonds was an entirely separate ring.

“Can I try them on?” Dagmar asked.

“Go for it.”

Dagmar pulled them out of the box and slipped them onto her left ring finger. She made a small sound in her throat. “They’re a little big.”

“Good to know. We’ll get them resized.”

Even if they were loose enough to turn on their own on Dagmar’s finger, she still studied the set fondly.

“So. . .” Draco pulled Dagmar’s gaze up. “We’ve sort of talked about when we want to get married. When do you want to get engaged, though?”

Dagmar pursed her lips, thinking. “I’m a little torn. If we know we’re going to wind up married anyway, there’s no point in waiting. We’ve been together for almost a year, and I think I’ve gotten a good sense of who you are as a person. At the same time, it’s only been a year. We haven’t even properly lived together yet. So far, we’ve only really played house.”

“You want to do that for a little while first?”

Dagmar rested a hand on his knee. “What do you think?”

Draco touched the back of his head to the headboard. “I’m more in the first camp. I don’t really see the point in waiting because we both know where we’re going to wind up. We’ll probably have disagreements when we’re living together, but I seriously doubt we wouldn’t solve them. We’ve settled bigger things than arguing about who left socks on the floor.”

“We haven’t really had any major arguments, though,” Dagmar replied.

“We’ve been through some big stuff together. You’ve made it clear to me you’re there when I need you. I’d like to think I’ve done the same.”

“Ja, you have,” Dagmar reassured him with a squeeze of his knee. “I don’t know, I think it’s just personal preference. I’m not in any rush because I know where we’ll wind up. I’d feel more comfortable being engaged with more life experience under our belts.”

“I want more experience before we’re married, but I don’t know that it matters with this. Aren’t we pretty much unofficially engaged? We have been for nearly a year. We didn’t agree to go together to see what happens. We agreed to one day be married.”

“We never had to go through with it, if we didn’t want to,” Dagmar replied. “If we’re pretty much already engaged, then why do we need to rush into a real one?”

Draco pressed his lips together, air washing down over his chin as he exhaled. He was trying not to get frustrated with Dagmar, but it wasn’t entirely working. He took a minute to think, hiding it behind a drink from his wine.

“I guess we don’t have to,” he said. “I’d just like to. After the last year, I’m ready to make the commitment. I guess I just want to feel like you are too.”

“Do I have to have a ring on my finger for it to be clear I’m committed?”

“No,” Draco replied. “I’d just like it.”

Draco’s mood slipped, the more he thought about it. He always had to wait for what they both knew they were eventually going to have. He understood it more when it came to things like their first kiss or the first time they had sex, but just once Draco didn’t want to be held at arm’s length.

“If it’s important to you, then we can,” Dagmar said. “I don’t care either way.”

“I want you to care.” Draco didn’t bother to hide how glum it left him. “I don’t want you to say ‘let’s do it’ if you don’t really want to.”

“I want to. I thought we were just talking about when.”

“And you want me to wait. Again.”

When Dagmar didn’t reply, Draco looked over at her. She didn’t look impressed.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he said. “It’s just disappointing.”

“So now if I say yes, that’s what you think?” Dagmar asked. “That I’m only saying so because you talked me into it?”

Draco shrugged. “You said you don’t care.”

“I think you’re taking that the wrong way.” Dagmar pressed up closer to his side. “You make as good of points as I do. We pretty much already are engaged. We can settle whatever issues come up just as well as if we’re only dating. We’ve tested the waters. I’m ready to commit.”

“I do think we should live together for a while before we actually get married,” Draco conceded on his part. “I’m good with a longer engagement. If my mum came home tomorrow, I wouldn’t say we should start putting out invitations.”

Dagmar chuckled before catching his lips with her own. “I’m good with that too.”

Draco’s frustration bled out of him with the kiss, but he still wasn’t completely sure this had gone in his favour. He wanted Dagmar to be just as enthusiastic about getting engaged. He didn’t want it to just seem like a reasonable option.

Dagmar’s gaze softened as she studied him. “All right?”

“I don’t know,” Draco replied. “I still kinda feel like you’re only agreeing to make me happy. You don’t seem as into it.”

“Maybe because it’s not exactly a new idea.” Dagmar reached for her wine on the windowsill before Heimdall had a chance to knock it over. He’d just jumped up and was eyeing the glass curiously. “I know it’s going to happen eventually, and we’ve talked about getting married. We’re about to live together and start the careers we’ve been working toward, so it’s not like we don’t have anything else to look forward to. I _am_ excited. This just isn’t an emotional discussion for me. It’s not like you actually proposed, and we’re debating it afterward.”

“You aren’t only agreeing with me because you don’t want to fight about it?”

“Nei, although I do think it’s not worth fighting you on,” Dagmar said. “If it doesn’t make a difference to me, but it does to you, you should have your way. That’s the logical part of it. The _emotional_ part comes when it’s actually happening.”

Draco could understand that. He tried to imagine what words might come out of his mouth when he got down on one knee—how Dagmar might react—and already felt a glimmer of nerves alongside exhilaration.

“I guess I’m just. . .” Draco shrugged. “It was a while ago now, but it sucked to have to wait to be open about our relationship at school. I don’t know if it’s just residual, or what.”

“I’ve made you wait for a lot,” Dagmar acknowledged. “This won’t be one of them. It isn’t like this is something either of us have experience on, so there’s no need for one to catch up. There wouldn’t be any potential social backlash. It’s not like I’m not ready, or like I haven’t already made that commitment to you. Someday in the next few years, you’ll be my husband. I’ll be a Malfoy.”

Draco softened at that. For all his anticipation of their eventual nuptials, he’d yet really to think about them becoming the next generation of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

Dagmar sipped her wine again, idly watching Heimdall as he chattered at a bird sitting on the balcony rail. “I was actually thinking about changing my last name in the spring, you know.”

Draco’s stomach pleasantly flipped. “To Malfoy, or. . .?”

“I was going to ask if you’d mind.” Dagmar looked back at him. “After my dad died and it came out he was a Death Eater, I didn’t want to move to Norway as a Ramstad. It might not reflect well on me if that’s the reputation that name has in Bergen. I decided to hold off after everything Dumbledore told us. If my dad isn’t actually my biological father, I don’t want to sever that tie quite yet. I want to honour him by it for a little while longer.”

Draco put an arm around Dagmar as familiar mistiness rose in her eyes. She pushed it back with a strong blink and cleared her throat.

“That’s what I was thinking,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be into the idea anyway, since it’s not a very romantic reason to take your name.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.” Draco thought it might have even been fun to leave it as a mystery for the rest of the school as to whether or not they’d tied the knot over Easter holidays. It would’ve been preferable for people to talk about rather than their parents.

“I think now I’d like to wait until we’re married.” Dagmar nuzzled Draco’s shoulder. “I want it to be romantic, not useful.”

Draco’s stomach fluttered again. He couldn’t help but smile as he rested his cheek against the top of Dagmar’s head. “Okay.”

“As for when we get engaged. . .” Dagmar rubbed his forearm, “I’ll leave it up to you. I hope I’m not asking too much if I want the rings resized before that. I’d like to be able to wear the engagement ring right away.”

“This is probably a stupid question, but which is which?” Draco asked. “I didn’t realize there was two.”

“I wear the one without the emerald while we’re engaged, and then whoever officiates the wedding puts them together during the ceremony’s ring exchange.” Dagmar nudged Draco lightly. “If you want to be really traditional, I probably shouldn’t see the actual wedding ring until the day. The engagement one, not until you pop the question.”

“How will I know if they got resized properly if you don’t try it on again afterward?”

“I’ll give you one of my rings to take to the jeweller. They’ll match it.”

“Okay.”

“How’s yours? Does it fit all right?”

Draco fetched the box from where it got lost in a fold of the comforter. He put the ring on. “I think so.”

“Might as well double-check when you go to the jeweller, just to be safe. It’s definitely not something you want to lose. Are they family heirlooms?”

“My great-grandparents Pollux and Irma wore them.”

Dagmar continued playing with hers. “What were they like? Did you know them?”

“Didn’t know my great-grandma.” Draco shook his head. “She died a few years before I was born. My great-grandpa died when I was ten. You wouldn’t have liked him.”

“Nei?” Dagmar looked up.

“You know that woman in the portrait at Potter’s house? She was their daughter. I’m sure it’s no stretch of the imagination where she picked up all that stuff she was saying.”

Dagmar grimaced. “Not really.”

When Dagmar looked back down at her ring, Draco could see her thinking about it differently. He got her attention again with a brush of her knee.

“Maybe we’re being traditional for a lot of things, but some things will die with us,” he told her. “There’s nobody left in my generation of the Black family that cares about blood purity.”

“Who all is there?”

“Just me and Tonks,” Draco said. “None of the other purebloods our age care anymore either. The only one I’d be up in the air about is Theo, but I don’t think he does. His tantrum about the Quidditch team might have been the death throes.”

“Hard to say.” Dagmar shrugged. “Other than that, I would’ve never thought he cared in the first place. He never talked about it.”

“No.” Even when Draco talked to him about Potter outing their fathers as Death Eaters, it wasn’t much a conversation about blood purity as just being embarrassed. “I’ll have to ask him so I can find out more about his dad.”

“Any ideas yet how to approach that?”

“Not really. I’m sure it’ll come to me soon enough.”

Because of how badly things went with the Ramstads, Dumbledore wanted them to be extra cautious before approaching Mr. Nott. Dumbledore instructed Draco to open a conversation with Theo if it naturally arose before the end of the school year. It never did, and now Draco wasn’t sure what would happen with that as Theo and Daphne planned half a year of travel abroad.

Nobody at the last Order meeting had seemed too disappointed it hadn’t happened. When it came to Magnus Norheim, Mr. Nott wasn’t involved in that particular circle. It was doubtful he could really help. The only one left they knew of was Aunt Bella, and she was as unlikely to help as You-Know-Who himself.

“At least for now, things are quiet,” Dagmar said. “Dumbledore might be right that Voldemort gives up for a while on finding Norheim. Since Potter isn’t under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts anymore, he might focus on him again.”

“Maybe.”

Draco wasn’t too concerned about it at the moment. It was hard to be, when there was so much else to be excited about. Dagmar seemed just as content leaving the topic behind as Draco nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck. Draco inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as Dagmar’s natural scent filled his lungs. The corners of his mouth pulled up when she caressed his cheek.

“Get me one of your rings, anyway.” Draco steered them back to that. “I probably won’t worry about it until we’re in Bergen. I’d rather not make a special trip to Diagon Alley to pick them up, if I can avoid it.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe I ought to put the rings away,” Draco said. “I’ll have to pack them in a special place so they don’t get lost.”

Dagmar made a sound of disappointment and admired her rings again. “Give me just a few more minutes.”

* * *

After the first day home, a weird restlessness rose in Dagmar. The last month had been a whirlwind of her and Draco getting the next part of their lives in order. There felt like a lot to do on this side of the last day at Hogwarts. There wasn’t time to rest.

Draco emptied out his school trunk the morning after they got home, and Dagmar helped him begin to pack what he considered essential. His parents were keepers of the Malfoy and Black family bibles, and tucked within the Black one was Draco’s pedigree of birth. It was sealed with both family crests and signed by Mr. Malfoy and Cygnus Black, Draco’s maternal grandfather. The findings ended up distracting Dagmar and Draco.

“I just realized I never had to send anything like this to Jotunheimen to prove who I was,” Draco said as he read over the pedigree.

“Our professors vouching for us was good enough, I guess.” Dagmar flipped through the Black family bible. “I bet their words would mean more to prospective employers than family members. Less chance of things being forged if it comes from an established institution.”

“And I guess our employers probably care more about our academic standing than how we got here in the first place.”

“Lucky me, for that.” Dagmar’s stomach flipped with a sudden thought. “I don’t even know where I was born. How would I have ever proven who I am? For all I know, I wasn’t even born in Norway.”

“There isn’t a family bible at your manor?”

“I didn’t see one when I was going through the drawing room, and I would’ve seen it long ago in either of the libraries.” Dagmar ran a hand mindlessly over her fuzzy plait. “I have no hopes of finding my mum’s. I’m betting the Ramstad one is in Oslo.”

“With your uncle, or. . .?”

“Or maybe my aunt Agneta,” Dagmar said. “She’s the oldest between her, Uncle Håkon, and Dad.”

Draco lifted up some of the family bible pages to slip his pedigree back in. “You don’t have cousins, do you?”

“Three of them, ja. I honestly don’t even know if I remember the two older ones’ names, but Påske is our age.”

“Man or woman?”

Dagmar chuckled. “Man.”

“When did you want to meet up with them?” Draco asked. “We should have time once we figure out if we’re moving to the place Janne’s showing us tomorrow. It’s still three weeks until work orientation.”

“I could at least give Uncle Håkon an update when we know where we’ll be living,” Dagmar said. “He seemed excited when I told him we’d be moving to Norway.”

Dagmar was a little nervous about seeing her dad’s family. When she thought deeply on her lacking relationship with the rest of the Ramstads, she wondered why that was. It felt like a large bump to overcome in reestablishing a relationship with them. Dagmar hoped it wasn’t somehow her fault. It might be that, if Dagmar wasn’t a blood relative, they didn’t like her dad taking in someone else’s child rather than having his own. They didn’t seem like those kind of people, but Dagmar couldn’t help but worry she might end up a black sheep regardless of how meeting them went. It sounded like her dad had landed himself in that position because of his affiliation with Voldemort.

Her nerves about it waned as she and Draco geared up the next day to head off to Bergen. Fru Dyrdahl was meeting them mid-afternoon at Den Sultne Jotunn. Dagmar arrived first through the fireplace. She spotted Fru Dyrdahl out in the inn lobby, leaned back against the front desk while chatting with Sigrid. She and Sigrid both beamed when they spotted Dagmar and Draco.

“I hear you’re moving back!” Sigrid greeted them with. “That’s exciting.”

“Ja, you’ll be seeing more of us,” Dagmar replied.

The four of them carried on a little bit in conversation, Sigrid as impressed as Fru Dyrdahl had been at Draco’s earnest attempt at Norwegian. He was a little clumsy to start, but eventually caught the flow of it.

“We’d better let you get back to work,” Fru Dyrdahl told Sigrid with a wink. “Nice chat.”

“Always.”

Fru Dyrdahl put a hand briefly on each of Dagmar and Draco’s upper arms. “We can get there through the fireplace today. I opened it up to receive guests.”

She went first, and Draco followed behind to Dyrdahl Cottage. Dagmar went next. She stepped out of the corner fireplace when she saw Fru Dyrdahl and Draco. They stood together in a tall living room with a dark wooden floor and light log walls.

“. . .came up on the weekend to clean it,” Fru Dyrdahl was saying, but she trailed off when she spotted Dagmar. “Feel familiar at all?”

Dagmar looked around. It wasn’t currently furnished, so it appeared different from when she was here as a child. She remembered the open living room and dining room overlooked by the second storey loft. When Dagmar looked to the right out the front windows, her memory really started to work.

The bay spread out below. They were at high enough altitude to see some of the inlets leading to the North Sea. The majority of Bergen was to the left, although skimmed along the mountain below and further up the coastline.

“You weren’t joking about a view,” Draco said as he ambled closer to the window, arms folded.

“I remember all the lights at night.” Dagmar looked south where the mountains Lyderhorn, Damsgårdfjellet, and Løvstakken were. “I always tried to see our house from here, even though it’s on the other side of Damsgårdfjellet.”

“You might remember downstairs more.” Fru Dyrdahl beamed. “That’s where we hosted our parties.”

Dagmar stood beside Draco, equally drawn to the sight of the busy city below. They couldn’t see the people, but it swarmed with activity nonetheless. Muggle cars moved about on the roads, and ships did their never-ending work on the waters. Dagmar glanced at Draco and then smiled. He had a placid one on his face, his eyes darting. He was already sold on the location, and they hadn’t even seen the rest of the cottage.

Fru Dyrdahl gave them the tour when Draco was ready to tear himself away from the view. The kitchen was a decent size with an island fit to seat five. The back of the main floor consisted of an office with an attached owlery, a bathroom, and two bedrooms (“Only Ingrid was still at home when we bought this place, so we used the bigger one as a guest room”). Fru Dyrdahl led them up to the second floor, where the loft was fit with a small library (“I have the books boxed up in storage, but I’ll bring them back”). The only door at the top of the stairs led into the master suite (“I’d recommend warding spells for insects if you want to leave the balcony doors open at night to cool off”). They headed down next to the lowest floor, and Dagmar’s memory worked again when they came out by a stocked bar amongst a large recreation room.

“I remember this now.” Over by the bathroom, Dagmar opened the closet under the stairs. “When all us kids were playing hide-and-seek, I hid in an empty box in here. I thought I was so bloody clever.”

Fru Dyrdahl laughed before they carried on out the sliding doors. The deck on this level stuck out further than the main floor’s and had stairs leading back up. They moved around the top deck to the garden side of the cottage.

“I’ll show you around the grounds,” Fru Dyrdahl offered. “The garden didn’t see any love this last year, but the soil is still rich. Roar offered to come by whenever you have free time and help get it ready if you wanted to plant garlic in the fall. You’ll only have to go one season without, and there’s less work to do come spring.”

“Okay.” Dagmar smiled from embarrassment as they headed down the steps toward the garden, greenhouse, and shed. “Neither of us really knows how to do any of that.”

“Oh, Roar would be happy to show you,” Fru Dyrdahl walked briefly backward in front of them. “Or me, although I have a feeling he might insist. You’re overthinking it if you were taught Herbology at Hogwarts. Magical plants are so much more fickle than edible ones. You’ll do just fine.”

Dagmar hoped that was the case, since she was uncomfortable to ask such a thing and even to receive it if Roar offered. She would only be meeting him for the first time later today. Dagmar had to acknowledge, though, that she and Draco might need some guidance as they transitioned into adult living. It was less embarrassing to be open about their limitations now than it was to not be able to host company because they had never cooked before. Bringing a couple house elves up from Britain would break a massive cultural taboo. Dagmar and Draco didn’t have their parents anymore (not that Dagmar suspected the Malfoys knew much about such things), so they would have to swallow their pride for a little while as they caught up to speed.

The garden was big, about twice the size of the greenhouse. Attached to the greenhouse was a shed that had a wood stove and a locked door leading into storage. Dagmar didn’t have anything she could think to put in there, although she imagined it was where Draco’s brooms would go if he didn’t take them to the reserve for work.

“There’s a path through there that leads to the Muggle hiking trails in the area,” Fru Dyrdahl pointed out as they exited the stuffy, empty greenhouse. There’s a little lake that’s good for swimming, and it’s less than an hour’s walk to the restaurant over on Fløyen. Other than that, it’s pretty cut off from the city up here, I’m afraid. You’ll have to floo in to Den Sultne Jotunn or apparate if you have your licenses.”

“We do.” Draco nodded. “That’s fine. My family’s manor in Britain is the same way. More cut off, actually.”

Endeared by his excitement, Dagmar slipped a hand into one of Draco’s. She smiled at him fondly when he looked at her.

“That’s why Ingrid and Roar ultimately decided to move, so I thought it worth pointing out before you commit to anything.” Fru Dyrdahl idly swatted at a fly as they all stood together in the shade. “That and the local forest troll population has gotten a little worse in the last five years or so. This area is designated for them, so you can’t really do anything about it.”

“How bad?” Dagmar asked. “We don’t have kids obviously, but we do have a cat.”

“That’s good, actually.” Fru Dyrdahl chuckled. “From my experience, cats kept the trolls away. Ingrid and Roar have a couple, but they didn’t want to risk it in the end. Ragna kept coming back to the cottage with no cheese left in her pockets, and she kept forgetting to take bells with her.”

Dagmar wrinkled her nose. “I can’t blame them for wanting to leave, then.”

“I think that’s pretty much the only problem with the place.” Fru Dyrdahl folded her arms as she thought. “If you like living out in the country, then I suppose the things that come with that aren’t exactly faults. I might recommend getting a second cat if yours is overwhelmed by the trolls and garden gnomes. They’ll be bad right now since the garden hasn’t been tended, but there’s at least plenty to do for that.”

Fru Dyrdahl walked back over to the edge of the garden, where a mound of what looked like a clump of dirt stuck out of the soil. She plucked it out like a potato, revealing a round little body with swinging arms and kicking legs (“komdegav!” it said in a gruff little voice). With about as much effort as lobbing a rock, Fru Dyrdahl sent it off toward the edge of the woods. It hit the ground with an _oof_ before picking itself up and running off for the tree line.

“The fight never really ends,” Fru Dyrdahl said. “Your cat will love chasing them, though.”

“Ja, he will,” Dagmar said with a laugh. “He definitely won’t be bored here.”

Some of Fru Dyrdahl’s hair caught silver in the light. “That’s about everything to see, anyway. If you two want, I can give you some time here alone to explore for yourself. Dinner’s at five-thirty, but Roar will be there with the girls an hour before. Filip and Ingrid aren’t off work until five.”

“Sure,” Dagmar said. “We’ll just floo in through Den Sultne Jotunn?”

With Fru Dyrdahl’s agreement, she disapparated with a small pop. The new lack of conversation made Dagmar realize just how quiet the area was. Sounds from the city itself didn’t reach up here. A gentle wind passed through the trees, turning the leaves to static.

“What do you think?” Dagmar asked Draco.

“I’m having a hard time finding anything wrong with it,” he replied. “I can easily see us here.”

“Me too.” Dagmar squeezed his hand, excitement welling up again until an age-old anxiety just as quickly deflated it. “I meant to ask Fru Dyrdahl what she was thinking about asking us to pay for each month. And we’ll have to furnish it.”

“That’s okay, though.” Draco shrugged and pulled her gently back toward the cottage’s garden door. “It’s all stuff we’d have to buy eventually.”

“Ja.”

“You can’t seriously be concerned about money,” Draco told her. “Even our salaries will be more than enough.”

Dagmar nodded at the reminder. She was trying not to get hung up on it, since moving was expensive and she would only buy most things once.

“We don’t have to fill the whole house right away.” Draco led them back into the cottage. “We’ll just start with the essentials. Bedroom, kitchen, maybe a couple places to sit.”

“Okay.” Dagmar sighed to herself as she headed into the kitchen. “Sorry, just bear with me. I won’t let us go without, and I know we have enough to cover everything comfortably. I’m just being silly about it.”

“You’re not being silly.” Draco opened the ice box for a look. “It’s a lot of new stuff at once and a lot more money than we’ve ever spent. We haven’t had the chance yet to get a feel for money coming in versus going out.”

“I guess.” Dagmar idly flipped through the cupboards. “Feel free to tell me if I’m ever being ridiculous.”

“You might feel better once we open up bank accounts here and put something in them,” Draco said.

“It’s just so silly. I’m literally worth over half a million galleons and I’m fussing about a hundred or two. I don’t even have anyone to leave my family estate to, so what would it matter if I blew the whole thing?”

“How much you have doesn’t really change the way you think about it,” Draco replied. “If it helps, we’ll keep a ledger and a close eye on everything. You can see how it moves.”

Draco had mentioned doing that the last time they talked about money. Dagmar invited herself into Draco’s arms and nodded against his shoulder.

Draco rubbed her back. “That said, I wouldn’t mind starting a list. It might also help you feel better if we price everything out, set a budget, and then just keep to that as we slowly make the place ours.”

Dagmar grinned, unable to help it. “Listen to you, so smart about finances.”

“Don’t have much of a choice since my mum trusted me with the estate.” Draco shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to have a best mate working for Gringotts either.”

“Blaise used to say he was going to be an advocate.” Dagmar stood up straighter so she could see Draco’s face. “Must have changed his mind. He likes numbers, so I guess he’ll still enjoy it.”

“I’m sure playing with other people’s money is more fun than writing wills and stuff.”

Dagmar chuckled before sneaking in a kiss. She stroked Draco’s cheek afterward with her thumb, admiring everything about him from the slightly burned tip of his nose to how his hair naturally waved and fell. She ended up stuck on his eyes, their grey colour seeming to soften along with the rest of his expression.

“It makes me feel better that you’re being responsible,” Dagmar said. “If you say we need to spend something, I don’t have to wonder if it’s true.”

“I’m not going to rule out I might buy something silly with my own spending money.” Draco winked at her. “Essentials come first, though.”

His gaze darted downward, introducing a tilt to Dagmar’s head as she studied him. She gave him time to find the words for what he wanted to say.

“Mr. Clayton mentioned something to me when I saw him the second time on the Easter holidays,” Draco said. “I brushed it off because I didn’t think we’d need it, but when I think about it now, it might make you feel better about money.”

“What’s that?”

“A prenup.” Draco shifted on his feet. “Both of us have a lot of wealth to our names right now. Thing is, mine’s only temporary until my mum gets back. The last thing I’d want you to worry about after we get married is that I’d take half of yours if we ever got divorced. Not that I think we would, of course.”

“Hm.” Dagmar hadn’t thought about it. “How does it work, exactly?”

“However we want it to.” Draco shrugged. “Mr. Clayton said we declare all our assets, and then if we ever get a divorce, we walk away with what we came in with. What we saved up after we got married is what gets looked at, then. We already decided to keep our money separate, so I think it just goes along with that. If we ever had to split a house and stuff, it would be really easy just to divide the value down the middle, and then our bank accounts just stay out of it because that’s our own.”

Dagmar nodded slowly. “Not that I think we’d ever get divorced, but it does make me feel better. I just like the idea of control over everything. I also can’t really help being weird about money. The last thing I want is to start getting paranoid about it. I know you’re not with me for my money, and I never want to think that of you. I never want that thought close to my mind.”

“Me neither.”

Even though they were actively working to prevent it, Dagmar still felt bad. She really had no idea where her anxiety about money came from, and she hated that it had to affect what should be the most exciting parts of her and Draco’s future.

“Do you worry it might?” Dagmar asked.

One side of Draco’s mouth worked before he shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. I could just see it happening if your anxiety got out of control when my mum comes back. I would just have my entitlement disbursements and my salary. We’re on even footing right now, but it’s going to be very lopsided after that.”

“Ja.” Dagmar pressed her lips briefly. “I guess we just have to be realistic about ourselves, right?”

“That said, if you have any concerns about me, you should bring them up.”

“I don’t right now.” Dagmar cozied up to Draco again, running a hand over his chest. “I feel pretty good at the moment.”

“Not offended at all about the prenup?”

“Why would I be?” Dagmar touched their lips together. “I’m the loaded one.”

Draco snorted. “I guess.”

With an agreement in place about how they’d spend money, Dagmar felt fine now to walk around the cottage with Draco and idly plan what their home would look like. They both agreed their first purchases should be stools for the kitchen island and a bed. The next time they were in Trollmannsgaten and not pressed for time, they would dip into a furniture store to see what they offered for living room sets. Dagmar wound up more preoccupied on debating outside sitting, like putting a table on the deck so they could eat out there during nice days.

Ranking it all by priority helped Dagmar as well. She was fully back to feeling excited by the time four o’clock passed. She and Draco had a small debate about whether or not Fru Dyrdahl would mind them coming earlier than everybody else. Dagmar wanted to discuss things like their rental agreement before Roar and the girls showed up.

Dagmar popped briefly out of the fireplace in Den Sultne Jotunn and headed right back in for the Dyrdahl residence. She was brushing a little wayward soot off her blouse when Fru Dyrdahl peeked into the great room.

“Come on in,” she told her with a smile. “I’m just puttering.”

Dagmar slipped off her shoes on the rug beside the fireplace, looking about as she did. It felt different to come here than when she visited last summer. Dagmar had been under the impression then that this house had been the only place she ever lived before Ramstad Manor.

Draco popped out of the fireplace. Butterflies fluttered in Dagmar’s stomach as he ran his fingers back through his hair. Judging by Draco’s double glance, Dagmar plainly wore her admiration. She returned his smile, grinning briefly as his hand rested between her shoulder blades. It moved to her lower back on their way into the kitchen.

Fru Dyrdahl was overseeing cutlery rapidly shredding a large head of cabbage. “So what did you think?”

“We’d love to live there,” Dagmar replied. “How much were you thinking of charging a month?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t charge you anything at all just for someone to live there and take care of it. Something tells me you wouldn’t accept that, though.” Fru Dyrdahl winked. “Market price right now for a cottage and land that size is fifty romer a month.”

“Okay,” Dagmar said. She and Draco had capped their budget for it at seventy-five. “How would you like to proceed with that, then?”

“I’ll draft up an agreement in the next few days. We can just do month to month, rent due on the first starting in July? Or are you moving that soon?”

“We should.” Draco nodded. “We both have work orientation on the thirteenth and then start work on the third of August. I’d like to be settled in to some degree by then.”

He looked at Dagmar for confirmation. She smiled and rubbed his forearm.

“If you want to start moving things in before the first, I don’t mind.” Fru Dyrdahl went to the ice box and brought out a tumbler of what looked like berry soda. “The place has just been sitting there for almost a year, empty and waiting for life again.”

“We might just do that.” Dagmar nodded when Fru Dyrdahl offered to pour her a glass.

“I was also thinking,” Fru Dyrdahl said. “Not that it would be something to worry about for a while, but say down the road you two find that you’re stable and ready to invest in a property. If you want the place, I would knock whatever you’ve paid in rent off the purchase price.”

“Out of curiosity,” Already, Dagmar could feel her anxiety creeping up, “how much would you ask for?”

“I’d say probably twenty-thousand.”

Dagmar tried not to let her stomach curdle to hear that number. “We’d be saving for a while, in that case.”

“Take your time,” Fru Dyrdahl said as she levitated Dagmar and Draco’s drinks over to them. She poured herself one afterward. “Now that Filip and I are comfortable, I prefer to wait until the right buyer comes along. I thought it would be Ingrid and Roar, but sometimes things just don’t work out.”

“Nei.”

The three of them hadn’t gotten far into other conversation topics when the fireplace whooshed with a new arrival. Dagmar heard shoes flop against the floor and then the patter of small, bare feet running in their direction. “Grandma, Grandma!”

The little girl beelined for Fru Dyrdahl, her head practically colliding with Fru Dyrdahl’s chest as she hugged her.

“Hallo, lille bie.” Fru Dyrdahl ran a hand over the girl’s curly brown hair. She had it clipped back on one side. “I have company for you to meet. Solveig, this is Dagmar and Draco.”

Solveig had a little smile when she said hi and offered her hand for a shake (Dagmar nudged Draco in reminder to stand up). The fireplace worked twice more. Dagmar assumed the second young girl that came in to be Ragna. She was taller and less excitable than Solveig. Her step slowed in front of her dad when she noticed Dagmar and Draco.

“Hallo,” she said.

Ragna was less shy about meeting them than Solveig had been. Her blue eyes lit up when Fru Dyrdahl mentioned Dagmar’s name mid-handshake. “You’re going to live in our old house!”

“That’s right,” Dagmar replied. “We’ll hopefully take care of it.”

“I miss the gnomes. They were so dumb.”

“They’re still there. We saw them earlier.”

Dagmar shook Roar’s hand next. The girls had inherited his curly hair, and they all had the same round face.

“So you finally made it here.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Ingrid’s excited. She wants to show you around the hospital.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a tour,” Dagmar said as they all headed for seats at the island. “It’ll be just like old times, me following her around.”

Roar burst out laughing, confirming to Dagmar that Ingrid remembered that the same way. Fru Dyrdahl went back to working on supper, contributing the odd thing to the conversation as it moved on between Dagmar, Draco, and Roar.

“I’m a little nervous, I guess,” Draco admitted with a shrug when Roar asked about him starting at Jotunheimen. “I haven’t a clue what I’ll be doing, and I don’t know anyone I’ll be working with yet. The culture is still new to me, too. I’ve relied on Dagmar to help me navigate that so far, but I won’t have her there.”

“Considering you actually speak the language, that’ll go a long way,” Roar reassured him with a fresh smile. “We get a lot of British tourists here in the summer, and their attitude about foreign language is quite different than ours. For a Brit to learn Norwegian is a compliment.”

“What about social customs?” Draco asked.

“Upper class politesse probably isn’t much different than what you’re used to. For more casual settings, it’s always best to err on the side of caution for privacy and personal space. Close family and friends are the exception.” Roar put an arm around Ragna and squeezed her. “Do _not_ be late for anything without a very good reason. If you run out of things to talk about, the weather will do just fine. Don’t talk about blood purity unless it’s relevant to the conversation. Understate, don’t exaggerate, and be modest.”

“I’ll do my best,” Draco said with a laugh. “I’m still learning to be modest. I was not raised to be.”

“Just let your accomplishments speak for themselves,” Roar told him. “You work at a dragon reserve. Just by knowing that, I can assume you must be disciplined, one hell of a flyer, and have a cast-iron sphincter.”

Dagmar cracked up along with Roar and Fru Dyrdahl. “What’s that mean?” Solveig asked, and when no one replied, she repeated the question in a whisper to Ragna, who shrugged.

Dinner was starting to smell really good when a pop sounded over in the foyer. Herr Dyrdahl called out to announce himself, which sent both girls running to greet him. When he returned to the kitchen, he had a grinning Solveig in his arms. Ragna begged to be carried the same way. Herr Dyrdahl picked her up with a grunt after properly greeting Dagmar and Draco.

“Kitchen’s feeling a little small,” he said. “Why don’t we go out onto the deck? The food can probably mind itself at this point, Janne?”

“It’s ready, we just need Ingrid.”

She showed up about fifteen minutes later in her Healer uniform. She beamed as she shook Draco’s hand and then pulled Dagmar into a hug.

“Ah, look at you, all grown up!” she said. “You’re even taller than me now. When the hell did that happen?”

“Not sure.”

It was unfortunate that Ingrid and Roar couldn’t stay too long once they’d finished eating. They needed to get the girls home (“before you think we’re bad parents,” Ingrid joked), and Ingrid herself was tired after what she described as a day longer than it needed to be. Dagmar and Draco headed off first through the fireplace after making tentative plans to see them again. While Dagmar waited for Draco in the travel room at Den Sultne Jotunn, she yawned. They hadn’t been in Bergen for long, but the few hours were intense enough to make her idly wish they’d just booked a room here for the night.

Draco sighed contently when he stepped out. “Seems a waste to go all the way back to Britain, doesn’t it?”

Dagmar rubbed his arm. “We’ll be here permanently soon enough.”


	2. Running Colours

“So how was the first day?” Harry asked.

Ron sat down at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place with a forced exhale. Something in one of his suit pockets squeaked underneath him.

“It was all right, I suppose.” Ron dug for whatever that squeaky something might be. “It’s fun, but Fred and George will ride me hard for a while. They could’ve given me my suit early so I had a chance to get it taken in.”

Its arms and legs were at least the right length for Ron, but the sizing was better fit for a stockier Weasley.

“I have to go to Madam Malkin’s and buy new clothes for work,” Harry told him. “We could go on your lunch break one day or something.”

“Sure.”

Harry already grew restless after only being home from Hogwarts for two nights. His Auror orientation was next Monday and his actual start date the one following, but Harry would get on early if he could. He didn’t like sitting around Grimmauld Place with no company during the day other than Walburga and Kreacher. Ron started at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes right away, and Hermione left for the Balkans from the train platform to help Viktor start the move to London. It was hard for Harry to sit still when everyone else took the leap into their post-Hogwarts lives.

He ended up going to Diagon Alley the next day after debating it against the lack of anything else to do. Harry’s first stop was at the joke shop to see about what time Ron would be off for lunch. The store was busy, so Ron couldn’t give him a straight answer. Harry browsed a little bit before ultimately deciding to carry on.

Harry took the long route to Madam Malkin’s. He would’ve thought after he’d left Hogwarts that public movement would be difficult for him without risk. Dumbledore and Kingsley had been paying close attention to everything since Easter, but there was no activity to even suggest Voldemort was in the country anymore. He’d gone stone-quiet.

The patrons of Diagon Alley went about their business normally because of it. Even Harry caught the carefree feeling that summer inspired. For the first time really yet, Harry let himself experience that lifting sensation of mingled pride and happiness. While he would miss Hogwarts, he’d accomplished his dream of making it to Auror training.

Others from Harry’s year had started work in Diagon Alley. Harry spotted Kellah at the Menagerie, Emma Vane at Florean’s, and Zabini walking out of Gringotts. Zabini was wearing a suit, which caused Harry pause in thought.

Madam Malkin’s shop was busy. She was helping somebody else, so Harry fell back into browsing mode. His mind was starting to go a little numb from it.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Potter!” Madam Malkin said when she finally made her way over to him. Her smile was warm and her outfit as boldly mauve as ever. “You must be here for work robes. Now tell me dear, what did you end up doing?”

“Er, I start Auror training in a few weeks.”

“Wow!” Her eyes lit up. “Not that I expected any less from you, of course. Brilliant. So, are you looking for standard Ministry robes today, or something special?”

“I was thinking something special.” Harry’s cheeks lost their heat as the conversation moved on. “Maybe a suit.”

“Wonderful idea, my dear. You only make a first impression once. It should be an impactful one.” She studied what he was wearing today. “Yes, it would seem that your size has changed again since I saw you last summer. Why don’t you let my assistant update your measurements?”

“Sure.”

As more people piled into the store, Harry could see why Madam Malkin hired someone on. Harry usually only came in here during the end-of-summer rush for Hogwarts, but it was just as busy any other time. Madam Malkin ushered Harry into the back before heading for the next patrons that looked in need of assistance.

Harry slipped his hands into his pockets and looked about the small room. Measuring tapes laid limply over the back of a chair. Movement appeared in the corner of Harry’s eye, coming in from the bigger part of the shop’s back. Harry took a double glance when he registered that the assistant was really pretty, wearing robes a different style although the same colour as Madam Malkin’s. Her black hair was shiny and silky where it sat on her shoulders, and hazel eyes caught Harry. His cheeks warmed and he averted his gaze as, with slight horror, he realized he was looking at Pansy Parkinson.

“Er, hey,” he said, resisting the urge to clear his throat.

“Hi,” she replied with a hint of breathiness. “Madam Malkin said you needed your size taken?”

Harry nodded jerkily. The measuring tapes picked up off the chair with a flick of Parkinson’s wand and started their work on Harry. He lifted his arms when one of the measuring tapes looped around his wrist as prompt for it. Parkinson leaned back against the wall with a ledger open across her left forearm, quill in hand.

“So, how’ve you been?” Harry broke the silence.

“Yeah, long time no see, right?” Parkinson jested with a fresh smile. “Seems like only last week we were still at Hogwarts.”

Harry laughed, a little surprised she could make a joke without someone intended as a target.

“I’m good,” Parkinson followed up with. “How about you? A suit, huh? Ginny mentioned you got on as an Auror.”

“I have to be trained first, but yeah.” Harry’s face grew warm again. “I start in a few weeks.”

“So how does that all work, then?” Parkinson asked.

“I’m honestly not completely sure,” Harry admitted. “I’ll know more after my orientation on Monday. I’ve heard I get a mentor, which I guess makes more sense than actual school since it’s just me going in.”

“That selective, huh?”

“It’s really selective.”

Harry pressed his lips together, not meaning to brag, but Parkinson’s smile only softened. Really, it was probably nothing compared to what level of boasting she used to hear from Malfoy.

“Good for you, then,” she said. “If anyone from our year was going to get on with that, it would’ve been you. Things have been quiet for a while though, haven’t they?”

“Er, yeah.” Harry figured there was no harm in confirming that. It was hardly a secret that Voldemort had kept a low-profile ever since his failure to retrieve the prophecy at the Ministry. “It’s fine with me, honestly.”

“Me too.” Parkinson wrote some things down as one of the measuring tapes returned to her side. It held itself taut until she got the numbers off it. “There’s nothing wrong with a boring life once in a while.”

“Sure isn’t.”

“Are you sure you can agree?” Parkinson’s one cheekbone became more pronounced as her smile bordered on a playful smirk. “I doubt Auror training will be boring.”

“No, but compared to what I’m used to, it shouldn’t be so bad.”

Parkinson laughed, the sound of which had changed over the last year. It’d been as shrill as ever when they went back to school in September, but it softened after she started hanging out with Ginny.

The last measuring tape returned to Parkinson. Harry slipped his hands back into his pockets and idly studied Parkinson while she finished up what she was writing. Harry’s gaze flicked away when she looked up.

“Come in here, then,” she told him with a step toward the back room. “You can pick what colour and fabric you’d like.”

On one of the tables was a couple textile sample things on big rings. Parkinson tucked some hair mindlessly behind her ear as she flipped through.

“Colour is an easy place to start,” Parkinson said. “Unless you’re looking to dress outside the box, there are four main ones to choose from. I wouldn’t recommend brown. I just don’t think it would suit you. There’s black, charcoal, or navy blue.”

“Erm. . .” Harry scratched his neck.

“I have some jackets you could try on if you’re not sure.”

“Yeah, might help.” Harry managed a tight smile. “My knowledge of clothes pretty much ends at ‘Hogwarts black’.”

Parkinson laughed again, quieter this time since they were standing closer together. “It’s only my second day, and you’re the third person I’ve helped so far from our year. I think it’s a very common thing after wearing the same things since we were eleven.”

“Probably.” That, Harry thought, and he didn’t have anybody really to walk him through this. He felt too old to ask someone like Mr. Weasley for help, even if he would be more than happy to. Harry was not only of-age now, but an adult on his own. He could figure it out. It was going pretty well so far, he thought. “Who else has come through? I saw Zabini earlier in a suit.”

“Blaise?” Parkinson looked back over her shoulder from where she fetched the suit jackets. “No, he must have already had that one. I haven’t seen him. It takes longer than one day to make a suit, anyway.”

“I guess it would.” Harry took the navy blue jacket she handed him. It fit him somewhat like how Dudley’s old clothes used to. “How long does it take?”

“About a week, but we have other orders to complete as well.” Parkinson pressed her lips while she considered Harry’s reflection. “You said you needed it Monday?”

“I don’t _need_ it, but. . .” Harry shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just have to get new robes in the meantime.”

“I could talk to Madam Malkin and see what I could do,” Parkinson offered. “Jumping the line might cost you a little extra, though.”

“Tempting since the cost doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“It’s not.” Parkinson reassured him with a new smile. “It’s what we do. I like the work, so if I have to put a couple extra hours in, it’s no skin off my back.”

One corner of Harry’s mouth pulled involuntarily upward. “You’re going to insist, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” she replied. “Well—I can’t if you don’t authorize the cost to expedite it, but I’m invested. It’s not every year the Ministry trains new Aurors. You should look your best on your first day.”

“My first day isn’t technically until the sixth.”

“Orientation counts.”

“I guess.”

“So then let me do my job, Potter,” Parkinson’s voice went a little snippy, but in a nicer way than when it usually happened at Harry’s expense. “Here, try on the black jacket.”

The blue one slipped off Harry as soon as he moved. It had some heft to it as he caught it before it hit the floor. “These aren’t meant for real clients, are they?”

Parkinson laughed. “They’re big enough for everyone just to try on for the colour. Even—well, it’s impolite to say anything about larger clients, but it’s important to acknowledge they exist. They need to know as well as everyone else what suits them best.”

Harry stopped himself from saying he’d grown up in a house with a couple bigger people. That felt a little too personal to tell Parkinson, even if it was just an objective fact.

Parkinson traded him blue for black. Harry wasn’t sure as soon as he put it on. “Do I look a bit like I’m going to a funeral?”

She laughed. “Here, try charcoal. It’s a little more neutral.”

Harry preferred it, but pretended to debate between it and the navy blue. After settling on the charcoal, Harry still had to pick what fabric he wanted, as well as details like if he wanted pinstripes. Pinstripes made Harry think about Cornelius Fudge, though, so he passed on those. Parkinson recommended a white or very light blue shirt to wear underneath. Ties offered another opportunity for Harry to drag his feet.

Parkinson held a black one up to him. “Neutral might be your safest bet for starting work somewhere like the Ministry. Since you aren’t wearing a black suit, you won’t get that funeral or black-tie event look. You could always look at other colours once you’re more comfortable there, or if the Auror department has casual Friday or something.”

Harry laughed at the sudden mental image of Moody wearing a Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans.

With a thoughtful tilt of her head, Parkinson held a green tie up. “Emerald goes nice with charcoal suits anyway, and it would bring out your eyes.”

Their gazes met, and Harry felt a little tongue-tied. Whether for better or worse, the click of heels sounded from direction of the measuring room. Madam Malkin’s familiar humming could be heard.

“Pansy, dear.” She poked her head in. “I have someone else that needs their measurements taken. Are you just about done with Mr. Potter?”

“Er, yeah, we’re wrapping up.” Parkinson had taken a few steps back. “I’ll only be another minute.”

Madam Malkin left them to it with that. Parkinson fiddled with the emerald tie in her hand before offering up an apologetic smile. “I suppose I’ve kept you long enough. I hope you didn’t have anywhere else to be?”

“Nah.” Harry shrugged. He might have missed Ron on his lunch break, but there remained a strong chance he hadn’t even taken it yet. “This was my last stop.”

“Come back Friday,” Parkinson told him. “I should have your suit ready, and then we can do any alterations it might need.”

“Sounds good. I saw a sign out front about a deposit. . .?”

Parkinson nodded. “Madam Malkin will talk to you about it.”

Now that Harry was keeping Parkinson from doing her job, he resigned to let this end. He didn’t want to get her in trouble. Harry had just been enjoying himself. “Thanks for all your help. See you Friday.”

Parkinson’s expression softened again. “See you.”

The rest of Diagon Alley had ramped up in business as the middle of the day approached. The joke shop looked completely overrun to the point that Harry didn’t think he would even bother. He had half a mind to buy lunch for Ron, Fred, and George, but the lines for all the vendors and restaurants looked just as chaotic.

Harry decided instead to make a big dinner. When Ron moved to Grimmauld Place, Mrs. Weasley stocked the kitchen up with vegetables from her garden and had brought by several loaves of freshly made bread. She had also brought by some cookbooks, although it was clear to Harry when she set them on the kitchen table she had no real expectations of either Harry or Ron going through them. For lack of anything better to do and in a weird mood that could benefit from distraction, Harry took one up to the parlour. Hedwig’s enclosure was empty, dashing his hope she was home. Harry looked out the open window to see if she was at least nearby, but she was still out exploring the new territory.

The words blurred that Harry tried to read. His mind was still going about how easy talking to Parkinson had been. Harry had never had luck with girls, and his situation with Voldemort made it all the more difficult. For one, Harry never wanted to give Voldemort anymore potential ammunition than he might already have. Harry also had a very hard time telling which girls might genuinely like him. That was a strong reason why he’d brushed his suspicion of Parkinson fancying him at school under the rug. If she was trying to distance herself as far as possible from Slytherin house, then Harry was the ideal choice for her eye to land on. What could she even know about Harry?

Ginny might have told her some things. Other than Hermione, Ginny was probably the girl that knew Harry best. They’d grown up together like near-siblings. After staying at the Burrow enough times, Ginny would know things as specific as whether or not Harry snored, his hygiene routine, and how much he pitched in around the house.

What then did Harry know about Parkinson? Not a whole lot, when he thought about it. She was most likely one of the many Slytherins that relinquished their concern about blood purity, since Ginny wouldn’t have tolerated that. The Parkinson family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. While traditional, they weren’t Death Eaters.

Harry’s stomach made a nasty flop. He knew that Parkinson had been betrothed to Malfoy for five years before that all eventually fell apart. That was a long time to be committed to anybody. While Harry would never fault Parkinson for things set up outside her control, Malfoy himself made it complicated. He and Harry were in a very fragile place, and Harry maintained it was important to keep that careful connection. He didn’t want to do anything that might turn Malfoy’s nose back up at him.

That begged the question, though. Just _what_ was Harry planning to do here? He could almost laugh at himself for getting so carried away. He’d spent a little under an hour with Parkinson, and he was already thinking about what sort of opinion Malfoy might hold of it?

It was just nice to think about someone like that again, Harry reasoned. The only real experience he had with dating was with Cho, and that had definitely not gone well. Harry’s NEWT years had been dedicated to his studies. His seventh year especially, Harry couldn’t afford to be distracted. He had a heavy suspicion that on top of reaching his required grades to qualify for Auror training, it had been Harry’s efforts for the Order that ultimately got him in.

Harry returned to the kitchen with the idea of attempting to make Yorkshire pudding. All the different components seemed easy enough even if they were time consuming, and the meal was among both his and Ron’s favourites. It would be easy to make a massive quantity. Harry was getting close to done when the sound of the parlour fireplace whooshing carried down.

“Kitchen,” Harry replied when Ron called out.

Footsteps came down the stairs. “Bloody hell, it actually smells good in here.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t sound so surprised. Turns out boredom’s a decent motivator, and if I was gonna do it, might as well do it right.”

“Might as well.” Ron took a seat at the table next to where Harry had set Mrs. Weasley’s bread. “How much longer’s that gonna be?”

“Not long. Did you ever get to go for lunch?”

“Barely,” Ron said through a mouthful of bread. “Fred ran for sandwiches, so I got to scarf one down between putting anti-theft spells on the new products.”

“Must be moving a lot right now.”

“Oh yeah. I think everyone must’ve used up everything they got from Zonko’s the last Hogsmeade weekend. Even just the last two days, I’ve seen a lot of familiar faces.”

“I saw some around Diagon Alley,” Harry said. “Just a few people from our year.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few too,” Ron replied. “Parvati and Lavender work at the tea shop Fred and George like best, so I’m dreading when they realize that and start sending me more than just once or twice a day. Saw Vane at Florean’s when I stopped there after work for something quick.”

“Where’s _my_ ice cream?”

“Back in Diagon Alley.” Ron chuckled at himself. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow, unless you’re heading back there? Did you make it to Madam Malkin’s? I probably won’t get a chance to ’til Saturday, if Fred and George even let me have it off. They were talking about giving me Sunday and Monday off, but they might end up needing me this weekend before the schedule changes.”

“You’ll make it there either way. Come grab this meat and stuff.”

All Harry had left to do was mash the potatoes. Ron whistled tunelessly as he brought everything for the Yorkshire puddings over to the table. He put three of the puddings on his plate but stopped there.

“I made it to Madam Malkin’s,” Harry said to answer Ron’s earlier question. He carried the pot of mash over. “It ended up taking a while. I decided to get a suit instead of just new robes.”

“A suit,” Ron repeated, sounding impressed. He grew amused with himself again as he tugged on the lapels of his. “Makes the man, so they say.”

Harry laughed. “Parkinson is Madam Malkin’s new assistant, eh?”

“Parkinson?” Ron pulled the platter of sliced roast toward himself. “That’s another one I didn’t think would bother to work after Hogwarts. Didn’t she only have like two classes last year? I just remember seeing her in Defence and Charms.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe she’s just doing what she wants.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure she was enjoying herself.”

Harry reached for some puddings. “What’s that mean?”

“She fancies you, according to Ginny.”

Harry didn’t know what else to say other than, “Oh.”

“Explain your afternoon experience?”

“I don’t know, I thought she was professional,” Harry replied. “For it only being her second day, she knew what she was doing.”

“Are you even going to get your suit in time for Monday?” Ron asked. “I’m wearing Fred’s old one because he said it took him and George like two weeks to get theirs.”

“She told me to come back Friday.”

Ron’s eyebrows slowly rose as a smirk emerged. “That much of a rush, huh? Must be some fancy.”

“Madam Malkin backed her up on it. I paid extra for them to have it ready.”

Ron let it go with that, maybe more so because his plate was full and his rumbling stomach sounded like bad plumbing. Harry was glad he could say something about the experience since it had been a different one for him, but now he wasn’t sure he much cared for the result. If he mentioned it to Ron and then Ron mentioned it to Ginny, would it get back to Parkinson that Harry had thought enough to bring her up at dinner?

The prospect both terrified and excited Harry. Realistically, he thought to calm himself down, this was as far as it would go. How often would he cross paths with Parkinson? Harry normally only ever went to Madam Malkin’s once a year. Even though he was living and working in London now, why would that ever change?

It was just nice to think about someone like that. That thought returned to Harry as he headed off early to bed just because Ron had. Maybe there _was_ something missing from Harry’s life now that the dust had settled. Grimmauld Place itself felt weirdly empty. Even though Harry had owned it for two years, he’d never actually lived here. He still thought of it as Sirius’ home, or as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

Now that it was Harry’s actual residence, the other Order members were giving him space to make the place feel like his own. If Ron hadn’t been eager to feel some independence by moving out of the Burrow, Harry didn’t even know what he would do with himself. Grimmauld Place wasn’t somewhere someone was meant to be alone. Were he still here, Sirius would attest to that.


	3. A Land of Midnight Sun

Narcissa wasn’t sure what time it was at the hideout when she woke up. Downstairs in the foyer, the door leading to the room where the Dark Lord and Bella worked in was shut. It didn’t mean much about whether or not they were actually in there. The door was always closed.

Narcissa headed down the hallway and through the keeping room for the kitchen. There was some bread on the counter and then some cheese and cured meat in the ice box. While Narcissa chewed mindlessly on the cheese, she gazed out the window at the grass-laden yard.

It felt nice to be alone for the moment. Bella had been overbearing ever since Narcissa first arrived with her and the Dark Lord. Narcissa estimated it had been a few months now based on the number of times she’d slept, but timekeeping had become very hard to do in the last month or so. The sun rose one day and had yet to set.

Narcissa stepped out onto the back porch to see where the sun was in the sky. She’d tried to figure out which direction was north when the days were still separated by night. The sun’s movement wasn’t consistent. Narcissa had quickly gained the impression that space and time weren’t bound to anything here. The land itself seemed alive in a weird way, like if Narcissa listened very closely she could hear it breathing. The air smelled like the sea. If there was one nearby, Narcissa had yet to see it. The trees that surrounded the house were a gnarly, tangled mess that reached high for the sky. Narcissa had never seen any like them before.

The steps down to the ground creaked underneath Narcissa’s bare feet. Once the snow had finally melted, Narcissa found it easy to explore the yard without shoes. The ground itself was soft, as if it had never known a rock. The grass was the same way. It gently brushed against the side of Narcissa’s feet. Golden flakes drifted from the sky like snow. Narcissa held out her hand to catch some of them. They continued to glimmer in her palm for a few seconds before fading away.

It was growing harder for Narcissa to feel as if there really was a world beyond this place. It felt separate from everything else, as if it belonged to a dimension of its own. Maybe there was something in the air, like the gold, that had some sort of effect on her memory or cognitive abilities. Narcissa felt timeless here, as if either not a single second passed since she’d left Malfoy Manor, or as if she, Bella, and the Dark Lord were the last three on Earth.

That feeling scared Narcissa. It was the only thing capable of breaking the immutable concession to her current circumstances. She thought about Draco a lot—what he was doing, where he was, and if he was okay. Had Tibby given him his letter yet? Was he still at Hogwarts, or had the end of June come? Narcissa tried not to let her heart hurt too badly that she couldn’t be there to see him celebrate the end of his education. She missed making her weekly trip to Diagon Alley to make up a care package of sweets for him. Did he miss them too?

Narcissa didn’t feel like much of a mother here. She couldn’t be one to her son while so far-removed, and it didn’t help that this place seemed capable of cutting what tethered her to her life before it. It was hard to even feel like a Malfoy when her last night before being brought here had been when she chose to leave Lucius. Had things worked out as Narcissa expected them to, she may have already been going by her maiden name again.

Usually by now if Narcissa wandered outside, Bella would’ve called her back to the house. She seemed to have a sixth sense for when Narcissa pushed the boundaries of what she was allowed here. Bella must be too busy right now to care.

Narcissa headed for a path that had piqued her interest. Her heart picked up as she reached the mouth of it. She’d never gotten this far before. The woods were even more impressive in size close up, and much darker as Narcissa looked into them. The slight breeze that toyed with her hair and caressed her cheek had no effect on the environment. The tree roots ran too deep, and the branches were too thick to be moved.

A brilliant, emerald field appeared ahead through the turns of the trail. The grass shifted in the wind. Narcissa was drawn in closer, stopping where she discerned an edge despite no indication toward one.

Something white moved in the corner of Narcissa’s eye. She gasped when she saw a young woman looking back at her from between the trees. Her waist-length blonde hair had a slight wave to it, and her eyes were brilliantly blue even from a distance. Her face was smooth in a weird way, almost as if she didn’t have cheekbones. Lips parted, she craned her neck in interest at Narcissa.

“Hello.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet from lingering surprise.

The woman didn’t respond. She smiled coyly instead, bordering on nervous, as she backed up toward another path with her hands behind her. The white gown she wore fluttered in the breeze before she vanished around one of the large trees.

Narcissa followed, taking a wide berth around the path’s head. It was just as worn as the one Narcissa had arrived in this field in. At the first bend, Narcissa caught a glimpse of the woman’s dress before it vanished again around a corner. Narcissa kept on.

The forest was quiet around her in a comfortable way. Narcissa would normally know better than to follow a stranger anywhere, especially one as strange as this one. Narcissa had the distinct feeling, though, that nothing in this place could hurt her. She didn’t think anything _would_ hurt her.

Narcissa paused when the trail came to a fork. The right path headed back to the house. She could see the tops of its dark spires. The woman had gone left. Since it was still a legitimate path, Narcissa didn’t see the harm. No matter what way she came back, she could find her way to the house. Even if she couldn’t, Narcissa wagered that Bella would track her down. Narcissa might be in trouble, but that seemed quite normal anymore.

The path took an incline, growing steep before levelling out and then going downward again. There was so much salt in the air that it felt like it coated Narcissa’s throat. She coughed a little, which prompted a brief look of concern from up ahead before the woman disappeared again. Narcissa kept following the flutter of her gown around corner after corner.

Although slightly windy, the path ran generally straight. Narcissa stopped in her tracks when the trail came to an end up ahead. There was water.

The woman had disappeared. Narcissa looked behind her and all around before hesitantly moving forward again. The beach was soft like the rest of the place, its sand white. It ran all the way left and all the way right along where the edge of the forest abruptly stopped. Out at sea, right at the horizon, some mountains from a distant shore turned blue and blended in between the sky and water.

Narcissa strolled toward the waterline. The breeze was stronger here. When she looked up and down the beach again, Narcissa wondered if she was on an island.

She sat down in the sand. After being stuck in the house with Bella and the Dark Lord, it was nice to finally have a moment to herself. Narcissa pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. The waves were hypnotizing as they lapped up against the shore.

Her newfound tranquility didn’t last long. She heard Bella calling her name from the path. Bella already sounded beyond angry, so Narcissa didn’t think there was much harm in enjoying her last few moments of solitude.

Footsteps padded in the sand over to her, Bella huffing. “Are you deaf? Did you not hear me calling you?”

“I heard you.”

Bella’s black robe glittered with golden specks in the sun, as did her hair. She stood over Narcissa with her fists on her hips.

“It’s not like I can go anywhere,” Narcissa said. “You might as well let me explore and get comfortable.”

“You need to be careful,” Bella scolded her. “There are things around that might not take to you.”

Narcissa thought about what had led her here in the first place. “I saw a woman.”

“Let me guess, blonde hair, blue eyes, white gown.” Bella scoffed. “She’s no woman, let’s get that straight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her before I wandered off?”

“Because you were told _not_ to wander off.”

Irritation developed into a pit near Narcissa’s stomach. “You can’t just treat me like a child, Bella. For god’s sake, I’m forty-three years old.”

“You realize that if anything ever happened to you, nobody would be able to find you except for the Dark Lord and I?”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. You would think after I’ve done exactly as you said since we arrived here, I may have earned myself some freedoms.”

“That’s not my decision.”

“I’m sure the Dark Lord has bigger things to concern over than me,” Narcissa said. “This is an island, is it not?”

Bella crossed her arms.

“I can’t swim.”

“I know that, but the Dark Lord doesn’t.”

“He wouldn’t believe you if you told him?”

Bella swelled up, indignant. “Cissy—”

“Never mind, then.” Narcissa waved her off. “Just a thought that maybe I don’t have to be anyone’s burden, if you’d let me make something of my time here. I don’t want to be a prisoner.”

Bella inhaled long and deeply before exhaling. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’d rather you be prepared for what’s all here. We’re leaving soon.”

“We are?”

“Not you, the Dark Lord and I,” Bella said. “You’re going to be by yourself for a while.”

Panic coiled in Narcissa’s stomach. “For how long? What’ll I eat?”

“We arranged a babysitter, don’t worry.” Bella rolled her eyes, tapering off into a cheeky grin. “Wesley will come by once a week to bring you supplies. I imagine he’ll talk to you so long as you’re tolerable.”

“He’ll be able to see me, then?”

“Obviously.” Bella tapped Narcissa on the upper arm with the back of her hand. “He’s back at the house. Come be social and say hello.”

Narcissa curled her nose at being yet again treated like a child. She wanted to disobey Bella solely on that, but decided it wasn’t worth it if Bella would soon be gone. They headed together back for the path that would lead to the house.

“If Wesley’s coming once a week, it sounds like you and the Dark Lord will be gone for a while,” Narcissa said.

“Work doesn’t end just because we suffered a setback,” Bella replied.

“How long will you be gone?”

“However long we have to be.”

Even if Narcissa wasn’t happy with her sister right now, her throat still tightened at the prospect of saying goodbye. Narcissa wasn’t somebody that thrived alone, nor was she used to it. Even if she was home by herself at Malfoy Manor, there was the quiet presence of the house elves to keep her company. If Narcissa had known she would wind up here, she would’ve brought either Carpy or Sooky with her.

Narcissa came to a stop as a familiar white image appeared again at the path’s edge. The woman she’d seen earlier peered out from behind a tree, smiling again until her gaze landed on Bella.

It was no wonder why her face fell. Bella picked up a couple stones and threw them at her. “Get lost, you cow!”

“Bella!”

Narcissa grabbed Bella’s arm to stop her, but it was too late. One of the stones hit the tree trunk close enough to startle the woman. Her pleasant features contorted, her jaw falling low like a snake’s as she hissed at Bella. She turned away, and Narcissa got a glimpse of a tail peeking out from underneath her gown. Bark climbed up her back. As soon as Narcissa registered that, the rest of the woman vanished behind a similar camouflage. While the woman could be heard rustling through the underbrush as she retreated, Narcissa couldn’t see her anymore.

“Was that really necessary?” Narcissa asked Bella when the woman’s footsteps faded away.

“She’s annoying.” Bella rolled her eyes.

“What is she?”

“I don’t remember what she’s called.”

Narcissa just nodded. Even if Bella did remember, the information diet she’d put Narcissa on probably limited her from saying anything anyway.

They went uphill again before heading back into the little dip that the house was located in. Narcissa sighed a little to herself when it came into view, although she was tentatively excited to see someone other than Bella for once. She didn’t mind Wesley Nott all that much.

It was weird to see the Dark Lord out of the room he’d designated for himself. He stood on the front balcony alongside another robed figure, hood similarly drawn and arms folded. They talked and glanced in Narcissa and Bella’s direction. As Narcissa came up to the steps, Wesley lowered his hood.

“Narcissa,” he greeted her with a bow of his head. The silver in his hair caught the sunlight. “A pleasure, as always.”

“It’s good to see you too, Wesley,” Narcissa replied.

“Bella,” the Dark Lord spoke, “did you inform Narcissa of the new arrangement?”

“Yes, my Lord,” she said.

The Dark Lord nodded, his scarlet eyes returning to Narcissa. “We’re leaving soon.”

“How soon?”

“Within the hour.”

Narcissa just accepted it. “Okay.”

“Nott brought food.”

With mention of that, Bella gravitated toward the kitchen to prepare a meal. Narcissa tagged along, since she wasn’t sure what else to do but help. Her entire life she’d had house elves to do this kind of work for her. Bella had done it here for the most part, while Narcissa pitched in where she could. The food wasn’t as good as Narcissa was used to eating, but it kept them alive.

The Dark Lord and Wesley joined them at the kitchen table once it was ready. Narcissa kept her gaze on her own plate, playing with it similarly to how the Dark Lord did his. He didn’t seem to eat much at meals despite sitting them. He twitched, drawing a glance, but Narcissa’s interest stopped when Bella kicked her under the table.

“Nott will rest before he leaves,” the Dark Lord spoke. “It’s a long flight back home. Narcissa, I trust you’ll show him to somewhere he can sleep.”

“I will,” she said.

Narcissa followed Bella upstairs after they ate and came to a stop as she approached the top landing. The normally blank wall at the top no longer was; a door had appeared next to Narcissa’s room. Bella paid it no mind, so Narcissa passed it by for the room Bella had claimed as hers.

Narcissa sat down on Bella’s bed and watched her change into her traveling cloak. “I’ll miss you.”

“Will you?” Bella didn’t bother looking at her.

“You won’t miss me?”

“Not really.” Bella sniffed in annoyance. “I think it’ll be nice to get away for a little while. I’m not much for looking after someone else, especially someone as mopey as you’ve been.”

Narcissa grew very interested in her hands from how sharply that cut, idly nodding as her fingers blurred in her vision.

“You won’t miss me that much,” Bella said just as coldly. “You wouldn’t have tried to leave to Andie’s if you weren’t prepared to let me go.”

“How long are you going to hold that against me?” Narcissa asked. “It wasn’t even to do with you.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know what you were doing by going to her.” Anger curled Bella’s upper lip.

“I didn’t know where else to go. What would’ve honestly happened to me if I left Lucius but stayed in the inner circle?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Cissy. Nothing would’ve happened to you. Your loyalty certainly wouldn’t be questioned.”

“As if I would’ve told Andie anything or even stuck around there long.” Narcissa crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you think I would. Honestly, what information would I have even _had_ to tell her? It’s not as if I’m an actual Death Eater.”

“You still know things.” Bella moved to stand in front of her. “You knew the Ramstads were Death Eaters. You know what we all had to do to clean up the first raid crew that showed up at Ramstad Manor last summer.”

“You must think so little of me if you believe I’m capable of turning on everyone like that. I still care for Lucius, even if I can’t be with him anymore. Hildegard is a dear friend. So was Erik.”

“You have a funny way of showing that.” Bella sneered. “You would’ve left us all.”

Once Bella got stuck on that, there was no moving her off it. It soured the rest of her preparations to go, turning her petulant in the way she loaded her bag.

“You really are so foolish,” Bella said as she secured its straps. “The Dark Lord’s reign over the wizarding world is inevitable, and your big concern is whether or not you love Lucius anymore. What you _should_ be thinking about is what might happen to all that have turned their back on the Dark Lord. Some, it might not be too late to save.”

Narcissa furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”

“Your son,” Bella snipped. “He should’ve set himself prostrate in front of the Dark Lord and _begged_ for a chance to serve him. What happened? Did Potter get to him?”

“I don’t see how he could.” Narcissa’s guts ran cold.

“At Hogwarts. Don’t be so naive.”

“I don’t want to talk about Draco.” Narcissa swallowed. “You leave him out of this. You know he’s a good boy. You’re only saying these things about him to hurt me.”

Bella giggled. “Just something to think about while I’m gone.”

Just like that, Narcissa didn’t think she would miss Bella anymore. Why _were_ Bella and the Dark Lord leaving? Did it have anything to do with Draco? Would they bring him here? As much as Narcissa yearned to see her son again, she didn’t want it to be like that.

“You’d better not be after him,” Narcissa told Bella, heart pounding. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not even a question of whether or not he wants to serve, it’s whether or not _I_ want him to. I won’t see my son go the same way as my husband. I would take the mark myself first.”

“Because that would be so sincere of you.”

“Would forcing Draco go any better? He’s just a boy that’s lost his father to Azkaban, and I’ve disappeared.”

“That should motivate him, really,” Bella coolly said. “Or do you think it’s Dumbledore, not Potter, that’s putting lies in his mind?”

“I don’t know. But I think Draco would do the right thing when the time comes.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world Draco gets a little cozy with Potter and Dumbledore. It’s not like Draco has any critical information about the Dark Lord’s work. On the other hand, Draco might have some when the Dark Lord takes over that could be useful in eradicating the last defensive strongholds. The Ministry, Hogwarts, and then on from there. Lucky for you both, he would likely give that willingly.”

Narcissa nodded, lips tight. She didn’t know where exactly Draco was on everything. Her unspoken plan with Hildegard seemed to have worked, where Dagmar helped Draco find his step away from the dark path he was walking. He wasn’t a bad boy at heart. He’d strayed away, and it didn’t help that his sensitivity as a young child was met with disapproval from Lucius. Narcissa remembered Draco catching a beetle out in the garden when he was about five, and then accidentally killing it out of curiosity what would happen if he squished it. He cried until Lucius set him right. The faraway look in Draco’s eyes afterward hurt Narcissa, but she was able to bring him back from that with some sweets and a good snuggle.

It wasn’t until Draco went off to Hogwarts that Narcissa felt she lost control over him. Narcissa knew that as a mother she couldn’t do that forever, but she hated watching Draco struggle to find happiness. He didn’t really speak about any friends, merely keeping to the kids he’d grown up alongside of within Lucius’ social circle. Narcissa did her best from a distance to try and remind Draco of what made him happy, but she wasn’t sure it worked beyond a certain point. It didn’t mean she ever stopped trying.

Heart hurting, Narcissa followed Bella back downstairs. The Dark Lord waited at the bottom for her in the foyer. Wesley stood with him, blinking heavily. His eyes were bleary.

“Good luck,” Narcissa bid, although she wasn’t sure if she really hoped it for them. “I’ll. . .be here.”

The Dark Lord managed a cold, amused smile before he and Bella walked out the door. They headed for the same path Narcissa had used to return from the beach earlier.

Wesley slipped his hands into his pockets. “If you’ll just point me to a bed, you don’t need to worry about getting it ready for me. I can do that on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Narcissa replied. “Come.”

Narcissa led Wesley back upstairs. Now that Bella was gone, she wanted to see what was behind the new door that had appeared. It was gone, though. So was the locked door between Narcissa’s room and the bathroom.

Taking that in stride, Narcissa carried on for Bella’s room. As she came back to it now, she regretted not setting Wesley up in hers so that she could sleep in a larger bed. At the same time, Narcissa wanted to be a good host.

Narcissa pulled the blanket off while Wesley watched, thinking about everything she might be able to ask about the outside world. She didn’t know how familiar Wesley was with her situation. He was likely given some sort of overview why she was being held here.

“What day is it?” she asked.

“I suppose you lose track up here, huh?” Wesley chuckled. “Er, twenty-fourth of June.”

Narcissa nodded, taking the brunt of that to the chest. She had a feeling she’d missed Draco’s birthday and his graduation, but it hurt to be confirmed. “I suppose Theodore’s made it home then, from Hogwarts?”

“Mhm. Him and Daphne are both at my place.”

“They’re still going strong?”

“They’re planning on going traveling for a while, so they must be if they’re willing to spend that much time together.”

Narcissa chewed briefly on her bottom lip. “Have you seen Draco at all?”

“I did at graduation, but I didn’t get a chance to say hi.”

“How was he?”

“Good.” Wesley ambled away from where he stood as Narcissa needed to fold the sheet under the mattress there. “I take it nobody told you how he did in school, huh? Slytherin ended up with the Quidditch and House Cups. Draco graduated with distinction, one of only a handful. Theo mentioned he got straight Os on his NEWTs too.”

Narcissa’s eyebrows rose by their own accord. Other than a few subjects, Draco hadn’t really ever excelled academically. “You don’t say.”

“Might not have believed it if I didn’t see him shaking Dumbledore’s hand for it.” Wesley shrugged. “There was him, the Ramstad girl, Blaise Zabini, a couple Ravenclaws, the Macmillan boy, and that mudblood friend of Potter’s.”

“Almost half Slytherins,” Narcissa said. “Not bad.”

“Theo said Draco had help from the Ramstad girl.” Wesley folded his arms. “I was a little confused when Theo said they’d started going together, but it makes more sense now. I didn’t realize the Ramstads were Death Eaters.”

“They were very quiet about it,” Narcissa replied. “Only a few knew.”

“I thought they were just some of those spineless purebloods from here that like to think they’re equal to those beneath them.” Wesley scoffed. “I was very surprised, especially to hear that Erik took a Killing Curse for the Dark Lord. _That’s_ devotion.”

“Yeah.” Narcissa put the last pillowcase on. “He was very devoted.”

The way Wesley spoke, he at least unintentionally told her something. The midnight sun had already made Narcissa suspect she was in northern Norway.

“The Dark Lord seems to think you’re not devoted anymore,” Wesley said.

Narcissa waved it off. “Not that I blame the Dark Lord for making me earn his trust back, but it’s a misunderstanding. I wasn’t thinking straight the night I left Lucius. It was a mistake.”

“Leaving him?”

“Where I was going. I wish I could take it back, but here I am.”

Narcissa grew uncomfortable with the conversation. Wesley seemed to understand that, falling similarly quiet as Narcissa finished up. She glanced at him to try and see what he was thinking. He still just looked tired.

“That should do it,” Narcissa said after spreading a new blanket over the bed. “I hope you manage to sleep well.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Wesley chuckled his way into a yawn. “The Dark Lord couldn’t have picked a more eerie place to fall back to, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

Wesley gestured at the nearest window. “The fog, the cold, the gnarly forest. . .I swear if I look at the trees the right way, I see faces in them like Bellatrix’s Cruciatus victims. And the ash, where’s that even falling from? Is there a volcano nearby?”

“Er. . .” Narcissa looked out the window. Everything looked fine to her. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Just tell me the house isn’t haunted.”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

That satisfied Wesley. Narcissa took her leave with it, unsure if she actually spoke the truth about the house. She felt some kind of presence here, just like around the rest of the island as she’d explored so far. Narcissa traced her fingers on the wall where the middle door along the hallway had previously been.

She was at least happy to get some news about Draco. She liked to think that if he hadn’t fallen apart or let his studies go at the end, that it meant he got her letter from Tibby. It was a hidden blessing that Narcissa meant to hide anyway. She didn’t want Draco to give up the freedom she’d tried to grant him in order to find her. She would make her way home eventually. When she did, she would find Draco and Dagmar wherever they’d wound up and rejoin them.


	4. Imposter Syndrome

Come the morning of Monday the twenty-ninth, Harry woke up shortly after four o’clock. No amount of trying would get him back to sleep. He couldn’t decide if he was nervous or excited. This wasn’t even his official first day of work. He was only going into the office to see what all that would entail.

Harry straddled both feelings rather than settle on just one. He resigned to get up early and make breakfast. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually be able to eat, but frying sausages at least smelled good.

Ron had Mondays off from work now, so Harry doubted he’d see him before leaving. He took time getting dressed, feeling a bit like an imposter in his suit as he studied himself in the mirror. While Harry prepared to head off from the parlour, Hedwig peeked her head out far enough from beneath her wing for a quick pet. Steps sounded on the stairs. Harry paused long enough to peer into the foyer. Ron, hair wild, yawned on the middle landing.

“Wanted to wish you luck,” he managed through his gaping mouth.

“Thanks, mate. There’s sausages in the ice box.”

“Cheers.”

Harry headed off in the fireplace for the Ministry. He stepped out into the Atrium, which was packed with a rabble of flowing traffic directed toward the lifts. Harry let the crowd carry him so he could try to blend in. He didn’t have the same dead-eyed look to him as some people did returning to the office on a Monday morning.

Harry caught the odd smile, as well as nods in greeting. Was it known that he would be coming here for work? Harry just realized he had no idea. He got into a lift with a bunch of strangers. Notes in the form of aeroplanes hovered and quivered above him as they too sought their destinations.

The witch to his right cleared her throat. “First day, Mr. Potter?”

“Er, yeah.” Harry felt his cheeks darken as every other ear in the lift craned toward him.

“Where abouts?”

“Auror Office.”

She smiled, nodding. “Good on ya.”

A grumble of agreement around Harry fanned the heat in his face to encompass his ears. Doubt crept in on him. Who was he, other than the Boy Who Lived? Had he really ever proven himself worthy of the title of Auror? Maybe he got the necessary grades (he scraped through with Es in Transfiguration and Herbology) and yeah, maybe he’d managed to get Malfoy to a point where he actually ended up joining the Order, but Harry had failed too. He took partial blame on Erik Ramstad’s death, even if both Dumbledore and Kingsley told him he shouldn’t. Rather than things like concealment and interrogation techniques, Harry figured he could stand to learn some caution. Ironically, if Sirius was still here, he would scoff if Harry said anything to him about it.

Thinking about Sirius perhaps wasn’t a good idea today. A few weeks ago at graduation, Harry didn’t have anybody to personally invite. Even Malfoy had beaten him to Tonks, who Harry just wanted to invite as both a friend and future colleague. Harry would’ve loved to have Sirius and his parents there if life had gone differently for him. Even if the Dursleys could’ve come to Hogwarts for the ceremony, they would’ve blown the idea right off. Professor Lupin couldn’t come either.

Harry tried not to let it all get to him. He would’ve liked to share this moment with someone other than strangers in a lift, was all.

A couple familiar faces appeared as the lift came to a stop at Level 2. Kingsley leaned back against the wall nearby, looking at his watch, and Tonks stood beside him with long, bubble-gum pink hair today. She spotted him first, grinning and waving him over.

“Not bringing any wrongdoers in from the Atrium?” she asked him with a wink. “Moody would’ve been disappointed.”

Harry forced a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course! Loosen up,” she said. “Although, I might have been serious if Moody was actually your mentor. He tried to curse me my first day when I stepped out of the lift.”

“If you’re here, does that mean you’re my mentor?” Relief washed over Harry, but it was short-lived as Tonks shook her head with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I just came to say hi,” she said. “I didn’t have enough experience.”

“I think you’ll be happy with who I picked for you.” Kingsley winked at Harry. “It’s not a stranger.”

Intrigued, Harry followed them both down the corridor toward the Auror office. It was abuzz with rustling parchment as notes criss-crossed each other in the air above all the cubicles. Harry wondered which one would be his, if he even got one at this point.

“Come through to my office,” Kingsley told him.

Harry had to say goodbye to Tonks, who it turned out was on her way home after pulling a night shift. A couple Aurors nodded at Harry or at least held his gaze, since they recognized each other from Order meetings.

Kingsley held the office door open for him and then closed it once Harry had passed. “Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first. I have a bunch of forms you’ll need to fill out.”

Harry borrowed a quill. The first one wasn’t bad, just asking generic questions about where he lived, his birthdate, and his contact information. He handed it back to Kingsley, who glanced it over.

Kingsley passed him the next. “This one’s a waiver that you accept both the risks and responsibilities of the position. It’s my duty to inform you that the chance of harm to the point of fatality is possible in the field, especially given the current climate with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Things may be quiet now, but they won’t stay that way. It’s my hope you’ll have some decent training under your belt before Voldemort makes his reappearance.”

Harry nodded tightly. “Right.”

“As for the responsibilities, I have a couple charms to cast on your wand before next Monday. You’ll be able to use it to the capabilities of a law enforcement officer. I’ll warn you now, misuse of those capabilities is an automatic expulsion from the training program. My office needs to know that you respect those basic duties before you’re put out in the field on your own.”

“Can I get a list of what all that is so I don’t accidentally abuse something?”

“I’ll be sending you home with some reading material.” Kingsley smiled before returning to seriousness. “Since you and I already know each other, I have a strong feeling that you signing this is just a formality. I don’t think you’ll let it all go to your head. You’ve seen enough already in this war that you know the cost of it.”

Harry nodded again. His parents and Sirius returned to his mind, their absence heavier than usual.

“One of the charms I’ll be casting on your wand is similar to the Trace,” Kingsley continued. “Every spell you use with it will be documented. For the sake of privacy, those records are only accessed should it be relevant to an inquiry. You have the burden of reporting to me as soon as possible any incidents out in the field—those are defined in the reading material—as well as use of things like the Unforgivable Curses. In dealing with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, there are certain concessions allowed. Keep in mind they are very stringent and a last resort. For you, there will be certain allowances when it comes to Voldemort, should things happen to go that way.”

Harry knew what Kingsley meant without elaboration.

“I don’t expect you to remember everything verbatim in this package—” Kingsley brought it out from the bottom of the pile, “which is why you’ll have a mentor for the first three years. Within that time, you’ll likely face most situations that an Auror will.”

Harry took the thick booklet but had to set it aside as he signed off on everything else. It made him a little nervous to put it in stone, but these were all things he knew Aurors potentially faced. It was only a fifty-fifty shot that he would incapacitate Voldemort rather than the other way around.

Kingsley took his forms back and checked them over. He set them aside. “I’ll fetch your mentor.”

While he waited, Harry flipped idly through the reading package. Not only were there several pages, but the writing was small and cramped. Harry was glad he would have three years under someone’s guidance to properly absorb it all. He’d always been a more practical learner anyway.

Harry looked back over his shoulder when the door to Kingsley’s office opened again. His spine straightened and his face automatically made to return the warm smile he was receiving. “Hey, Professor.”

Professor Parasca still dressed all in black, and her hair remained gathered in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Here, Harry reckoned, she looked a little less rigid. He found it kind of funny she might be more comfortable in an Auror office at the helm of a war rather than responsible for the Defence Against the Dark Arts education of over five-hundred students.

“Hello,” she greeted him. “Am I taking it from here, Kingsley?”

“We’re done for now,” Kingsley said.

Parasca jerked her head toward the door. “Come on then, Harry. I’ll show you where we are.”

Harry fumbled a bit getting out of his seat, nearly dropping his reading package. Although eager, he was also nervous. His feeling of being here as an imposter worsened. While learning from Parasca for the second half of his NEWT education, Harry had really grown to appreciate her history as the Head Auror in the Balkans. She knew and had seen a lot. In a sense, Harry’s mentorship beneath her had already begun. She’d been the one to finally make Occlumency sink in for Harry, and it hadn’t hurt he learned Legilimency along the way.

“I was quite excited when Kingsley offered me this opportunity,” Parasca told him as they skirted around the edge of the office floor. “I liked teaching enough to do it again. At least this time there won’t be as much homework.”

Harry managed a laugh when she winked at him. “Wait, as _much_ of it?”

“Well, you’ll be coming along with me in the field, but your downtime will be the superior opportunity to reflect on anything we might do or you might see. It’s homework in the sense it’ll help you hone your skills, although you’ll be happy to know it’s not graded until you either pass or fail at the end. There are greater consequences for it not being done, though. I’m sure you can appreciate that. Mistakes might mean the difference between life and death, or freedom and incarceration.”

“Right.”

“The good news is, I’ll be your buffer until you’re ready to leave the nest,” she said. “We won’t be attending anything too chaotic or intense to start, so that you can ease your toes into the water. I myself need to brush up a little bit. I may have just spent the last year reviewing a lot of theoretics, but I haven’t practiced in nearly fifteen years. It’s a good time for both of us to come into law enforcement, seeing as Voldemort has chosen to go quiet again.”

That she said his name so easily drew a glance from the nearest Auror they walked past, who filled out a form in his cubicle. Parasca led Harry toward one that was twice the size as the rest. It had two desks fit into it. One already had a few personal effects and supplies. Harry studied a framed picture of Parasca with her arms around a young, grinning Luca. If Luca’s physical likeness to Tom Riddle had always been there, Harry wondered if the happiness Luca experienced in that picture could’ve been Voldemort’s too if the circumstances of his birth were different.

“This’ll be us for the next three years,” Parasca told him. “Don’t be afraid to make your space your own. All depending, we might not spend too much time here. Do you like to travel?”

“I haven’t done a whole lot,” Harry said as he took a seat. “I’ve only been out of Britain a couple times.”

“Are you referring to your visits in the spring to Kapsferd, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons with Dumbledore?”

“Oh—yeah.”

Harry wasn’t sure she’d know about those. Parasca wasn’t a member of the Order, or she at least didn’t attend any meetings yet. That made things a little sticky when it came to Luca, for Harry wasn’t sure what Parasca would think if it was pointed out how much he resembled a young Tom Riddle. After watching both Parascas for the year, no evidence actually pointed toward them being involved with Voldemort. Did Luca not look like Tom Riddle, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed anyone’s minds.

Other than his appearance, Luca was a normal student that just so happened to have a mother as a professor. Not even his prior education at Durmstrang levied him toward suspicion. He didn’t use dark magic or anything like that on fellow students that bothered him. Luca was more partial to walk away. He was a sensitive kid, judging by the long face he’d return to his friends with as he sought reassurance. That those friends were not only Slytherins but Malfoy’s gang had become irrelevant as well.

Still, Parasca was an investigator at heart. Without all the nuances, she too might see something that wasn’t there. Genes weren’t really all that random in how people looked. Everybody had a doppelgänger somewhere, Harry included. Granted, that had been his own father, but Harry remembered feeling the same way the first time he spotted Luca as when he’d seen his father in Snape’s memory. As Malfoy grew up too, he looked more like his own father all the time.

“I had a meeting with Dumbledore and Kingsley last week.” Parasca crossed her legs after sitting down. “They thought it prudent I know some things before I became your mentor. Also, you and I will be picking up where you left off with Dumbledore, so I needed to debrief him on the specifics of that. We will be focusing mostly on searching for Magnus Norheim.”

Harry’s stomach flipped and he leaned forward eagerly. “We will?”

Parasca nodded. “He’s important to Voldemort, and Voldemort will likely be doing the exact same thing. Thanks to Hugo Crabbe and Everett Goyle, we can at least narrow his location down between somewhere southwest of Zurich—possibly Bern—and Barcelona. One thing I noticed that was interesting. . .”

She referred to a map on the cubicle wall. It was hard to tell where it even was, since it didn’t cover a span of land large enough for recognizable forms or borders to manifest. Now Harry looked at it, the marked cities were known to him. Zurich was up in the top right, Barcelona down to the bottom left. She’d stuck a pin along the Mediterranean coast.

“Last summer, Erik and Hildegard Ramstad went on holiday in Nice.” Parasca pointed at the pin. “Considering Norheim was suspected to be in the area, I wonder if they used that holiday as a guise to search for him. If that’s the case, they clearly didn’t find him. We can probably rule Nice out as a search priority if there are other places we can focus our efforts.”

“Makes sense.” Harry tried to think of a way he could ask Ramstad about what her parents had done on their holiday. She might have noticed if they were doing Voldemort’s business, even if she didn’t realize it at the time.

“We’ll be going to France next week sometime,” Parasca told him. “I’m just waiting for Elodie Marigot to confirm a time to meet. She met the Ramstads when Dagmar ran into that little bit of trouble, so I’m curious what she might know about Norheim potentially hiding in France.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll also be going to Azkaban,” Parasca said. “I want to try and get all the information we possibly can, because this is a lot of ground to cover. We’re going to talk to Lucius Malfoy and Hildegard Ramstad.”

“Neither of them will say anything, far as I’ve heard.” Harry pressed his lips. “What could we possibly say that Dumbledore, Kingsley, and anyone else hasn’t that might crack them?”

“I’m not completely sure yet. My first instinct is to use Narcissa, Draco, and Dagmar to our advantage, since surely their loyalty for them must come before Voldemort.” Parasca rubbed her chin in thought. “What do you think the chances are Draco or Dagmar might know something that could work as leverage?”

“They probably do, but the question is whether or not they would give it to us.”

“What’re their prime motivations?” she replied. “Dumbledore told me they’re members of the Order. From a glance at their backgrounds, they don’t seem like ideal candidates for the group. Both come from Death Eater families with no reason not to feel comfortable about Voldemort reigning over the wizarding world. What compelled them to join?”

“They joined after Mrs. Malfoy disappeared.” Harry bowed his head in thought. “Ramstad had told Hermione before Easter she might talk to her after the holidays about what her and Malfoy were thinking, but they came sooner than that. Malfoy had a letter from his mum talking about how she was leaving his dad, and that she would reach out to him once it was safe to.”

“So then as soon as Voldemort has been defeated, Draco will get his mum back. The two are close?”

“Yeah.”

“We could potentially use that.” Parasca reached into an inside pocket of her robe and pulled out a small book along with miniature quill. The book had a tiny bottle of unspillable ink attached to the spiral, which Parasca dipped her quill into before making a note. “First lesson on interrogations, Harry. Find a common goal with who you’re interrogating and let them find their own way toward it.”

Harry nodded.

“We’ll start with Elodie,” Parasca said. “She’ll be the easiest one to talk to because she will be eager to help. I’m unsure how exactly we might approach Lucius and Hildegard, but we’ll have plenty of time to debate that. We could also consult with Draco and Dagmar about it.”

“I’m seeing them Friday,” Harry replied. “I could ask if they’re up for a chat.”

“Do you think they would be that day?”

“Maybe, but we’re doing something else first.” Harry wasn’t sure how much he could tell Parasca about Order business. He would have to ask Kingsley and Dumbledore about it. “If they’re okay with it, I could figure out a time and place. Here might not be best. They want to keep their involvement with the Order quiet. Voldemort has spies in the Ministry, and it wouldn’t look good if they’re rubbing elbows with Aurors.”

“We could always go to them. They’re in Norway, nu?”

“Bergen,” Harry confirmed with a nod.

“Sounds like we have a good place to start, then.”

Harry agreed, although the lot of it made him anxious all over again as he left the Auror office later on with his reading package. He’d hoped to get out by noon because he and Hermione had tentatively agreed to meet up in the Atrium. It was busy there again as everyone took lunch. Harry tried to see past the crowds at the Fountain of Magical Brethren. People loitered around it. Harry filtered his vision in attempt to pick Hermione out, provided she was actually here.

He almost walked past her. She’d apparently thought along the same lines as him clothes-wise, since she wore a suit as well. She’d tamed her hair much like she had for the Yule Ball back in their fourth year, turning it sleek before pulling it back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Ankles crossed as she leaned against a taller part of the statue’s perimeter, she read through a package similar to the one Harry had received.

She looked up and smiled as he approached. “Hey, you made it.”

“Yep.” Harry lifted his package aloft from where he’d held it under his arm. “You got some reading material too, huh?”

Hermione flipped it shut as Harry leaned against the wall beside her. “I was also assigned to the division I wanted, which is a huge relief.”

“Beings, right?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry, who grinned in amusement. She’d been fretting about it ever since she received her job offer from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

“I also got into the office I wanted,” she sweetly carried on. “Would you believe that people don’t much care to work with house elves?”

“Not to sound like a prat, but I bet there are more interesting beings that the division deals with.” Harry glanced at the front of her package, but it didn’t say anything beyond the Ministry department it belonged to.

Hermione sniffed in annoyance. “How was _your_ orientation, then?”

“Good. Guess who my mentor is.”

“Tonks.”

“Nope, too young,” Harry replied. “Professor Parasca.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose again. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Good,” Harry repeated with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I? I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” Hermione said. “She was a very good teacher. I’m just wondering how you’ll navigate that when it comes to Order business. There are a lot of Aurors Kingsley could’ve picked for you that were already members. Does that mean Professor Parasca is joining?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied. “She said she wants to keep an objective eye on things. Kingsley and Dumbledore told her some stuff, but I want to find out exactly how much she knows. Since Luca was on our radar there for a little while, I don’t know if she was told about that. I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to ask Parasca about him.”

“What about?”

“Parasca and I share a cubicle.” Harry folded his arms. “She had a couple pictures on her desk. There’s one of her and Luca, and then the other ones are probably her parents or something. They were older. I didn’t see a husband. She’s never worn a ring.”

“Would she have enough of a finger to?”

“Maybe not.” Parasca’s missing left ring and pinky fingers had gone invisible to Harry as he grew used to seeing them back in school. “There would still be pictures of him though, right, if he ever existed?”

Hermione’s temple touched the side of the statue. “What’re you thinking?”

“Not that it matters, but I’m just curious.” Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. “If Parasca had a husband, Luca would take his last name when he was born. If there never was a husband, Luca would take his mum’s maiden name.”

“You aren’t angling that she ran into Vo—” Hermione stopped herself since there were too many people around them. “Are you still on about Luca looking like Tom Riddle?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m just curious if there’s a reason for that. If Parasca _did_ meet Voldemort in that capacity, wouldn’t you want to know? Either she accidentally shagged him, not realizing who he was, or maybe there was something sinister there.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione rubbed her forehead.

“I don’t think there was,” Harry quickly clarified. “I think Parasca’s background speaks for her. Not to mention, Vol—he was primarily active here in Britain.”

“We know he ventured out of the country, at least making it as far as Norway.”

Harry knew Hermione couldn’t resist filling in that piece of information. Hermione didn’t seem pleased to make Harry’s point by doing so.

“She wants us to start at the very bottom on trying to find Magnus Norheim,” Harry said. “We’re going to France maybe next week and then up to Azkaban at some point to start recon. If we’re trying to fill in every single possible hole, I want this lingering question about Luca answered once and for all.”

“Why do you have to ask _her_ about it?” Hermione replied. “What about Malfoy or Dagmar? They were friends with Luca all year. Maybe he told them something about his family. Surely he went back to Romania during holidays. He was on the train at Christmas and Easter.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to put a bug in Malfoy or Ramstad’s ears that something might be off about Luca?” Harry asked. “They never noticed anything, as far as I can tell. To them he was just a kid that they happened to absorb into their friends group. I don’t think Malfoy would’ve known enough to hide Luca when I asked him if anyone was acting off in Slytherin house.”

Hermione bunched her lips off to one side, her gaze darting about the Atrium as she thought. “Unless Luca is Tom Riddle incarnate, I don’t really know what the point of it all would be. We know he’s not from watching him for a year. He was just a normal kid. If he didn’t look like Tom Riddle, we never would’ve noticed him at all aside from him just being Malfoy’s mate and a new face. It wasn’t like he just _appeared_ at Hogwarts. His mum was a professor. His mum was— _is_ —an Auror. Don’t you think she would’ve ever noticed something off about her son if he was coming up like Tom Riddle did?”

“What mum sees anything wrong with her kid?”

“Not that I can speak from experience, but I’m sure that’s something a parent would know,” Hermione told him. “It just doesn’t mean she would stop loving him. It’s also worth considering that they teach dark arts at Durmstrang. Sure, maybe not for the purposes that Tom Riddle eventually used them, but if Luca was predisposed to be tempted in a similar way, don’t you think we would’ve seen a more apparent mirror between the two of them?”

“I still think it’s worth knowing,” Harry maintained. “I’m not gonna get stuck on it or actively pursue it. If opportunity comes to figure it out, I’m going to take it.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Hermione shrugged and lightly scratched at her neck. “If you and Parasca are searching for Norheim, that’s where you should focus your energy. You don’t want to get distracted as soon as you start up as an Auror.”

“No, I know,” Harry agreed. “I’m not. I guess I’m just trying to get into that mindset of questioning everything around me.”

Hermione smiled again with that. She straightened up where she stood. “So how’s everything else going? How’s living with Ron?”

“Not bad.” Harry shrugged. “He’s pretty tired when he gets home from work, so we don’t spend a whole lot of time together once he’s done telling me everything Fred and George made him do that day. I’m pretty bored, but that should change now. I’ve got all this to read. Next week I’m hitting the ground running with Parasca.”

“He’s pulling his weight and everything?” Hermione nudged Harry lightly with her elbow. “Don’t tell me you’ve become his new mum.”

“Well. . .I did all the cooking last week if that’s what you mean.”

Hermione tsked.

“I wasn’t working, so I figured it was fair for now,” Harry said. “What about you? Is Viktor here yet?”

“Sort of.” Hermione perked up again. “He has a flat not too far away from my place. He’s gradually moving everything up, but it takes time.”

“You two aren’t living together?”

“Eventually,” Hermione said. “That’s the hope, anyway. Other than summers, we haven’t had much a chance to be anything but pen pals. That’s quite a jump to go from that to living under the same roof. I kind of want my own space anyway as I start work. I don’t want to split my concentration between my new job and getting used to living with a man. That’s too much change at once.”

“Yeah.” Harry had never been fully confronted by Hermione’s relationship with Viktor. She was now somebody in Harry’s life that had ventured into the foreign world of romance. “It’s good, though? You like him enough and everything?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out now.” Hermione chuckled. “If we were a hundred-percent certain, we’d be under the same roof. When we were figuring out what to do now we’re both out of school, he said he’d come here. He left the Game and Sports department in the Balkans on good enough terms he could go back if this doesn’t pan out. We didn’t want to put too much pressure on things, that they _had_ to work out. That would be more destructive, I think, than winding up not being compatible would.”

“Maybe, eh?”

Hermione studied Harry when his gaze returned to her. “Something on your mind about it?”

“Nah.” Harry waved the idea off before pausing. “Well, I don’t know, I think I just spent too much time alone last week. Without anything to focus on while I waited for today, I just got thinking it must be nice to have someone like that.”

Harry cleared his throat in discomfort. Nobody ever wanted to admit they were lonely, although Harry wondered if he’d actually feel that way if he hadn’t got on so well with Parkinson the few times he went to Madam Malkin’s.

“Are you adjusting okay?” Hermione turned more toward him, leaned on her shoulder against the wall. “This summer is definitely different than any other. It must be weird to be on your own rather than with the Dursleys.”

“Yeah.” Harry could at least attest to that much. “Maybe that’s what it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting somebody either,” Hermione clarified. “You’re still only human, Harry, and it’s not like you’ve had much opportunity to date with everything else that goes on.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Harry said. “I was more focused on getting here, and now that I have. . .”

“I don’t think you should write it off as impossible,” Hermione replied. “You would have to take some special precautions maybe, but you shouldn’t tell yourself you’re not allowed to care for anybody until this is all over.”

Harry chewed briefly on his bottom lip. “What kind of precautions, do you reckon?”

“The obvious things for sure, like no affiliation with You-Know-Who.” Hermione shifted her weight to her other hip and folded her arms as she thought. “Take it slow. Give her time to show her true self. That usually takes a couple months. It’s going to be tricky if you ever want her to visit you at Grimmauld Place. She would need to have it revealed to her by Dumbledore. She would have access to the Order headquarters then as well.”

“So it would be easiest if she was an Order member is what you’re saying.”

“I guess.” Hermione studied Harry with a tilted head. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“No.” Harry probably said it too fast. “Just clarifying that’s what you’re saying.”

“I guess pickings are a little slim there for single women close to our age.” Hermione took on an amused smirk as she nudged him. “Tonks might not be too old for you, now you’re both of-age.”

Despite his lack of eye for her, Harry’s laugh turned nervous anyway. “I don’t think so. We’ll be working together, and I think I like her better as a friend anyway.”

Smile lingering, Hermione toed the floor as she kept on thinking. “I guess you wouldn’t have to rule out a non-member completely. Even if she was You-Know-Who’s lap dog, she couldn’t reveal Grimmauld Place unless Dumbledore died and she became a Secret Keeper with the rest of us. We would probably just have to move the headquarters somewhere else.”

“Where, though?”

Hermione shrugged. “Is that something you want to consider? I was thinking this week while in Bucharest that since Grimmauld Place is your actual home now, you might not like meetings being held there. I suppose it depends on whether you like the company or not.”

“I’m not sure yet. Some company last week while Ron was working would’ve been nice.”

“Well, I would’ve visited if I wasn’t gone.”

“I know.” Harry smiled to stave off the look of pity Hermione was giving him.

“If we moved headquarters so the Order is in the clear, your only other obstacle would be Ron.” Amusement returned to Hermione’s expression. “Let’s be realistic. He won’t like you bringing a girl home before he does, although I doubt he’ll say anything since it _is_ your house. He’s just a flatmate.”

“I’d still want to be considerate about it.”

“I’m sure.” Hermione nodded. “He’s always been jealous, though.”

“Yeah.”

Still, that wasn’t a new issue for Harry to navigate. He expected after talking to Hermione about this that he would come away feeling anything like that remained impossible at this stage. Hermione never spared him the truth. To hear from her that Harry might have this much freedom was encouraging.


	5. Fideli

With all of her personal effects having been moved to Bergen, Dagmar was settling in nicely. Everyday came with something new to do. Roar and the girls came over to help de-gnome the garden before plucking out all the weeds. Dagmar and Draco packed a lunch another day intent to explore the hiking trails by their place. They wound up at the market every afternoon in Trollmannsgaten, finding ingredients so they could try out some of the recipes they’d gotten from Roar and Ingrid.

When Dagmar woke up Friday, she was mildly dreading a venture back to Britain. It didn’t matter it was for something Dagmar herself had suggested. She and Draco cut their trip to the market short that afternoon so that they could make it back to Malfoy Manor for five o’clock. They almost forgot to accommodate the time change.

Summer traffic congested the London Grand Floo Junction. It slowed Dagmar and Draco down to the point where their intended early arrival evaporated.

Dagmar stepped out of the fireplace into the manor house’s great room. “Should we check if they’re waiting for us?”

“Might as well.” Draco led her toward the foyer. “I’d feel like a prat if they were all standing out on the portico.”

They weren’t, but Kingsley, Dumbledore, Hermione, Potter, and Weasley were visible in the distance as they walked up the road from the Ministry’s apparating point. Dagmar stepped outside behind Draco and leaned against one of the columns. As the five neared, Dagmar could see all but Kingsley were very interested in the grounds and lawn. Dagmar herself was leery of the peacocks, since Draco said they could be quite nasty. They were still pretty from a distance. As Weasley looked around, he appeared somewhere between disgusted and fascinated with the place.

“So this is Malfoy Manor,” Dumbledore said as they all approached. “I must say, it lives up to the stories I’ve heard of its grandeur.”

Beside Dagmar, Draco smirked while he shrugged. His cheeks tinged slightly pink under his mild burn-turned-tan. “This is it.”

“Kingsley offered to show me around the perimeter while I cast the Fidelius Charm,” Dumbledore replied. “This may take some time, so I might as well get started right away. I’ll find you all when we’re done.”

Potter and Weasley looked a little antsy with Kingsley and Dumbledore’s departure, but Hermione just smiled at Dagmar.

“Fancy a tour?” Draco asked them all.

“Sure.” Potter folded his arms as Draco led them all to the double front doors.

The foyer walls echoed with their footsteps. Light reflections passing through the grand chandelier’s crystals created patterns on the floor. The portrait hanging of Abraxas Malfoy, while usually regal, changed as he sneered at the new entrants. With a sound of disgust, he walked out of frame.

“My grandfather,” Draco introduced him probably needlessly. “Just ignore anything he might say to you.”

“Granted, that,” Weasley said under his breath. Dagmar glanced at him in time to see a glowering Hermione poke her elbow into his side.

They went into the great room, library, and drawing room before doubling back into the dining room. Draco pointed out the owlery and his father’s study, which only consisted now of his desk (“The Ministry took what they wanted after Father’s arrest, and the rest is with the estate advocate,” Draco explained). From there Draco led them up the dining room stairs and pointed out the master bedroom (“The house elves removed all my parents’ personal items and put them into storage”), before the suite across the hall Dagmar’s parents had stayed in last summer.

Draco hesitated as they passed the dining room stairs for the other end of the second floor. He touched his knuckles to his closed bedroom door. “This one’s mine. It’s up to you who gets housed in all the other rooms, but I’d rather this one got left as is. If Dagmar and I ever need to come back to Britain, it’s where we’ll stay.”

“Okay.” Potter nodded.

The only other suite was the one Dagmar had stayed in last summer. From there, they all migrated back down to the great room. With the conclusion of the tour, Hermione, Potter, and Weasley turned similarly awkward.

“Er, tea?” Draco offered. “Oh, that reminds me. I ought to introduce you to the house elves.”

They headed for the kitchen, which had been skipped on the tour. It was the house elves’ domain, and Dagmar didn’t think it would see much traffic through the course of Order use anyway. Especially with Hermione there, the group didn’t strike Dagmar as one comfortable with the labour they might provide.

Hermione’s lips were pressed as she tentatively braced herself. She didn’t soften much as Carpy, Sooky, and Tibby all bowed deeply after being introduced to ‘the Young Master’s new friends’. Hermione at least had no room to judge on the state of their dress. Even scrap material around Malfoy Manor was elegant enough to dress them in golden silk.

The house elves dashed to work on the request for tea. Dagmar, Draco, Hermione, Potter, and Weasley gravitated to the dining room, where they took seats on opposite sides of the table.

“Things are still quiet then, are they?” Draco broke the silence.

“Yeah.” Potter cleared his throat. “Seems like it. I think I would’ve heard about anything in the Auror office when I went for my orientation on Monday. Or I guess just from Kingsley or Dumbledore in the meantime.”

“How was orientation?” Dagmar asked.

“Good,” Potter replied. “Professor Parasca is my mentor.”

Dagmar’s eyebrows rose. “That should be good then, ja? She knows her stuff.”

“Kingsley put us exclusively onto looking for Norheim,” Potter said. “Since we’re both just starting on the job, Professor Parasca wants to go back over some stuff to see for herself what we’re working with. I’ll know Monday when we’re going to Paris.”

Nerves rose in Dagmar at its mention. “Why are you going there?”

“Since most of the area Norheim was narrowed down to was France, we’re going to talk to Elodie Marigot.” Potter eyed Dagmar with a hint of hesitation before continuing. “You met her before, right?”

“I’m assuming Kingsley told you about when I got in trouble last August?” Dagmar smiled, but it was more out of discomfort than anything.

“Yeah, he told us. It was one of the reasons we were keeping an eye on you last year,” Potter said.

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did anything out of more than self-defence.”

“I wanted to ask you more specifically about Nice, actually,” Potter replied. “It falls in the area Voldemort was looking for Norheim in. We wondered if maybe your parents were using a holiday there as cover for searching the city.”

“Oh, maybe.” Dagmar would much rather talk about that than her own legal problems. “I didn’t spend much time with them though, so I couldn’t tell you. I was still mad at them about our manor raid.”

“What were they doing when you _did_ see them?”

“Shagging.”

Potter blinked. Draco and Weasley snorted. Hermione giggled.

“We were on holidays,” Dagmar went on with a cheeky smile. “Ja, maybe they looked for him too, but it’s not like they just left a spread of their plans over the condo table or something.”

“Just asking,” Potter replied. Maybe since Hermione and Weasley were both able to laugh, he allowed himself to go that way. The corners of his mouth pinched against his amusement.

“We came home early,” Dagmar volunteered with a wrinkle of her brow as she thought back. “I don’t know what all Kingsley told you, but Marigot had us sit in her office until Professor Snape showed up at nearly dawn to vouch for me. It wasn’t a good night. I was just hoping Marigot wouldn’t check my dad’s forearm for the mark. The next day, my parents suggested we go home. I went along with it because I didn’t want to be in Nice anymore, but maybe they thought things were too hot if they were actually looking for him.”

“So maybe they didn’t finish,” Potter concluded.

Dagmar shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“It would be more helpful to know everything you remember about their activity in Nice,” Potter said. “I told Parasca I’d ask you today if you were open to having a conversation with us about it, as well as some other things.”

“Just you two?” Dagmar saw the opportunity to be helpful without an audience. Now that Hermione and Weasley had taken their own paths post-Hogwarts, it felt different to share these kinds of details with them. It didn’t matter if they’d hear them later anyway. It was different speaking to Aurors rather than classmates.

Potter nodded in answer to the question. “We’re going to Paris to talk to Marigot, and then up to Azkaban at some point to interrogate your parents.”

Dagmar ran her thumb mindlessly over the handle of her teacup. Draco didn’t look much more excited at the prospect.

“I mean, you can try with my mum.” Dagmar shrugged. “My estate advocate keeps me updated about how she’s doing. You’re not likely to get a word out of her. I was under the impression that Dumbledore hadn’t managed either.”

“We still want to try.” Potter’s gaze shifted to Draco. “They were right in with Voldemort about this whole thing. One of them could save us a _lot_ of legwork if they would tell us what Norheim’s about.”

Draco scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail. “So what do you need from us?”

“Leverage,” Potter answered. “They don’t respond to just being asked questions. There must be something they want or care about enough other than Voldemort.”

“I don’t know,” Draco replied after a moment of thought. “The only things I could think of for my father are me and my mum. I have a feeling it might not be useful, though. I never did find out if he disowned me. The only contact I’ve had with him since term started last September was he signed the note on my Christmas gift.”

“What about your mum, then?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t have his side of the story on them splitting up, so I couldn’t tell you if he fought for the marriage or not. I can’t imagine him not caring she’s gone now, but I don’t know how you’d use that.”

Potter bunched his lips to one side. “Would you take some time to think about anything else? Parasca and I could get in touch with you next week, and we could meet again.”

Draco glanced at Dagmar, who shrugged. She herself would like the opportunity away from Hermione, Potter, and Weasley just to touch base with Draco and make sure they were both completely okay with this. Draco at least squeezed when Dagmar slipped her fingers into his hand on the tabletop. Dagmar didn’t like thinking about her mum much, which made her feel guilty now as she would be compelled to.

“We could do that,” Dagmar said.

Potter looked pleasantly surprised. “All right, then. Cool.”

Since he let the conversation lull again, Dagmar looked at Hermione. “So what’s going on with _you_ for work, then?”

Hermione was just as keen to share, as was Weasley when the question landed on him next how things were going at the joke shop. Dagmar appreciated the chance to laugh as Weasley regaled them with a couple week’s worth of tales. Dagmar’s encounters through school with Weasley were mostly him being surly. She much preferred to see him in a light more in-line with his twin brothers.

Weasley seemed just as proud of himself to have broken up the room’s stuffy air. He sat there with a straight spine while Dagmar wiped her eye, and Draco’s shoulders shook.

“All seemed good, you know, as the kid made his way to the exit. Nothing makes it past that door though, unless the anti-theft charm is lifted at the till,” Weasley continued when they were all calm enough to listen again. Even Hermione stifled more laughter as she tried to sip her tea. “Fred and George hinted when I started that they couldn’t wait until someone tried to nick something. So this kid, he gets to the door, right? I see his face go right red, and he looks like he’s about to toss. He looks at me, we make eye contact. I think he opened his mouth to try and tell me he was sorry judging by the look on his face, but all that came out was steam and this god-awful whistle. I reckon it startled him and he accidentally swallowed the Puking Pastille. He started tossing everywhere while he’s still whistling and trying to talk, because now everybody in the shop is trying to get the hell out of dodge. Maybe it wasn’t the most chaotic five minutes of my life, but blimey, it was up there.”

Dagmar sniffled since the force of her laughter had nearly made her nose run. “So what happened to the kid?”

“The pastille wore off and the whole shop just goes quiet.” Weasley cut a hand through the air. “There’s puke everywhere and still some steam coming out of this kid’s nose. Fred and George just thought it was brilliant. Then the kid’s mum cleaned up all the mess, and you should’ve _seen_ the tongue lashing. I don’t even think Mum’s hit that level before.”

“I dunno.” Draco’s mirth settled into a smirk. “I heard my fair share of howlers coming from that side of the Great Hall over the years.”

Weasley conceded Draco that with a hapless shrug, some colour coming up in his cheeks at the reminder. As far as Dagmar reckoned though, Fred and George probably outnumbered the other Weasley siblings ten to one on that.

The sound of a knock at the manor house’s front door forced Dagmar out of the easy mood they’d all fallen into. She’d actually managed to forget there was a reason other than to visit that Hermione, Potter, and Weasley came here. The five of them abandoned their empty teacups and headed for the foyer. When Draco opened the door, Kingsley and Dumbledore stood on the other side. Dumbledore’s expression was straight and his brow slightly furrowed as he focused on the blue light surrounding his right hand.

“Hermione,” Kingsley prompted her.

She stepped forward and put both her hands around Dumbledore’s. The blue light spread up Hermione’s arms before coalescing at the centre of her chest. As the light faded, Dagmar felt something pass through her similar to a breeze.

“There,” Dumbledore said as he took his hand back. “The charm is now in effect. Shall we carry on to Ramstad Manor?”

“May as well,” Potter replied. He seemed to notice too that Dumbledore looked tired. Dagmar imagined the Fidelius Charm, for all its complexity, wasn’t an easy one to cast.

Draco led the lot of them to the fireplace. Dagmar went first and stepped to the side in her manor’s great room for everyone else to arrive. Kingsley and Dumbledore headed off, and Dagmar started Hermione, Potter, and Weasley on the tour of her old home. Like Draco, she had removed everything personal so that it could be used to its full capability. She’d heard mention of the Crabbe and Goyle families arriving soon to use it as a safe house until they could be relocated.

The Ramstad manor house itself had more square footage than the Malfoys’, but not as much land around it. Dagmar started the tour in the drawing room, with its long table and now-empty cupboards and displays. Hermione seemed impressed at the size of the main floor’s library, and again when Dagmar showed them the second one upstairs. The master suite was massive, truly a jewel for whoever claimed it as theirs, Dagmar thought. There were two other suites to show before Dagmar brought them to hers. She led them all in through the double doors.

“This is my old room, but I don’t need it anymore,” she told them. “Like Draco said, we’ll just be staying at Malfoy Manor if we ever have to come back.”

“Okay.” Potter folded his arms as he looked around in thought. “I forgot, I was going to float an idea past you two.”

After the heavy topics he’d brought up earlier, Dagmar braced herself slightly. “What’s that?”

“Well, now that I’m actually living at Grimmauld Place, I’m not so sure about it being the headquarters for the Order anymore. If you two are gone to Bergen, would it be all right if we used one of your manors instead? There would be more space too than in my kitchen.”

“I don’t mind,” Draco said with a shrug before Dagmar could even really think about it. “Use mine.”

Potter blinked at Draco. “All right. Thanks.”

“We did say you could use our manors for whatever you need,” Dagmar told him. “Oh, I should introduce you to our house elves as well, so they know who to expect coming through.”

Other than mentioning once to Hermione that Dagmar’s family had some, she didn’t talk about them often. Dagmar avoided Hermione’s gaze as the elves went about similar theatrical greetings to what the Malfoy elves had done. Theirs had always been well taken care of and well treated, which hopefully would spare Dagmar if Hermione confronted her about it. She had a feeling Hermione might want to in-future as she found a way to make a difference for house elves on a governmental level.

It didn’t take as long for Dumbledore to make it back to the manor house’s front door with Kingsley. This time, Weasley accepted the role of Secret Keeper.

Dumbledore’s eyes were slightly out of focus afterward. He rubbed them with his free hand.

“All right, Professor?” Potter asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Dumbledore assured them all. “It’s just a spell that requires a lot of concentration.”

“Could I offer you a cup of tea?” Dagmar asked.

“That would be lovely.”

Everyone else accepted one as well, putting the antsy house elves to work on something. Dagmar rejoined everyone in the adjacent keeping room, where they’d all taken seats. She sat next to Draco on the love seat he’d claimed.

Dumbledore came back to himself a bit more by the time the tea arrived. He still looked weary, but could at least contribute to the conversation as Potter brought up moving Order headquarters. Dagmar furrowed her brow at it. She figured it would’ve been deeply discussed before Potter approached her and Draco. Potter probably just hadn’t expected them to agree.

“How’s Bergen?” Dumbledore asked Dagmar and Draco in the lull that followed.

“It’s good.” Dagmar sat up straighter. “We’re just getting settled in, learning how to be adults. . .you know, all that fun stuff.”

“You didn’t take any house elves?” Weasley asked. “It’s nice to have Kreacher clean the place. Well, he tries, maybe.”

“Oh, nei. Nei, no house elves in Norway,” Dagmar said. “It’s a major no-no.”

“That must be why there weren’t any at Kapsferd,” Potter mused. “People worked in the kitchens there.”

“Oh, you’ve been?” Dagmar asked. “What was it like? I always wondered.”

“It was pretty gloomy when we went mid-February,” Potter said with a glance at Dumbledore. “Their school uniforms were kind of different.”

“Bunad,” Dumbledore said.

Dagmar snorted. “Aw, that’s something I was looking forward to before my parents decided I’d go to Hogwarts instead. The students get to personalize their uniforms.”

The evening was getting on. Dagmar heard Draco’s stomach start to rumble not long before hers cramped with the same thing. The others looked a little peckish too. They started saying goodbye as the tea ran dry. Potter hesitated at Dagmar and Draco.

“So I’ll send you an owl for when we could arrange to meet?” he asked.

“Sure,” Dagmar agreed. “We still have another week yet until our orientations and then two weeks after that when we both start work. Our schedule should be pretty flexible until then.”

“All right.” He nodded. “Thanks.”

Kingsley went off through the front door while everyone else queued for the fireplace. Hermione gave Dagmar a quick hug and suggested they get together on their own sometime to catch up. With the manor just to Dagmar and Draco again, they returned to Bergen via the Grand Floo Junction in London. It was still as packed as when they’d come through the first time.

Dagmar stretched in the living room after apparating home from Den Sultne Jotunn. “Well, I’m glad we prepped everything we’d need to cook beforehand. I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Draco opened the ice box to start digging it all out. “Did you want to do sides or main?”

“I’ll do the sides.” Dagmar passed through the kitchen intent to run a hand down Draco’s arm before pivoting back toward the stairs. “I’m just going to change.”

As the sun moved west in the sky, its heat collected in the cottage. Dagmar opened up the balcony doors upstairs, cast a couple warding charms, and did the same on the loft windows before returning to the kitchen. Heimdall loafed on the balcony railing, relaxing after what had surely been a good hunting day.

Draco had brought out the potatoes Dagmar peeled and cut earlier. She filled a pot at the sink so that she could boil them. “So what do you think about what Potter said?”

“Which bit?” Draco scoffed. “Still got a mind stuck in one gear, doesn’t he?”

Dagmar laughed, but tapered off as she returned to seriousness. “About your dad.”

“I don’t know.” Draco arranged cod fillets on a covered sheet. “I’ll have to think about it. The only thing I could really see useful to Potter is my mum, but it really depends on how all of that went with my parents. Considering my mum disappeared the same night, my father might just think that You-Know-Who took her to keep her safe. So it might not even be seen as a bad thing to him. Plus, if Potter himself is conducting the interview, I can’t say I see my father in much the giving mood.”

Dagmar slowly nodded. He made good points, but that wasn’t the type of answer she was looking for. “I suppose I should’ve asked how you feel about it. Do you not mind, then?”

Draco shrugged and looked over at her. “I want all of this settled as much as the next person. I want my mum back. I’m tired of being stuck in this situation. After being so far away from Britain, it’s hard to force myself to even really think about it. This feels like another world all on its own.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed. She joined Draco by the range to light one of its elements with a tap of her wand. She set the pot of potatoes on it. “It’ll be nice when it’s all over.”


	6. Lys og Vann

Narcissa counted the days by keeping track of what hours she slept. The only clock in the house was in the keeping room. She would look at it before heading upstairs to bed, and then again when she came back down. It worked just fine for the first few days Wesley was gone, but then Narcissa started to lose track. She couldn’t find any ink, quills, or parchment. She ended up grabbing a stick in the forest and writing in a patch of dirt in front of the house.

Her rations were dwindling at the rate Narcissa expected. On the seventh day, when Wesley should’ve arrived, he never did.

Narcissa gave it one more sleep. When she was still alone after waking up, she sat on the house’s front steps and looked back over the makeshift calendar she’d made. Unless she was sleeping longer than twelve hours, then this should be correct. Wait—that wasn’t right. If Narcissa was sleeping beyond the number of hours she could track, Wesley would’ve come sooner than she expected rather than later.

Mild panic came over Narcissa as she watched the sky for any sign of Wesley. If he didn’t come on time, did that mean something had happened to him along the way? What was Narcissa supposed to do until Bella and the Dark Lord returned? What would she eat? Who would she talk to?

Narcissa had never seen any wildlife that she could catch, not that she knew how to hunt or fish in the first place. One day she had stuck a stick in the sand next to a strange, rocky peninsula and then walked the beach until she came back around to it, confirming she was on an island. If there were no animals, then what else was there? Narcissa couldn’t eat the plant life, however abundant it was. At least since she was on an island, it would make it very hard for Narcissa to actually get lost. If she lost track of herself while foraging, she could just walk in one direction until she found the beach again.

She headed into the woods. She ended up having to stop so that she could hastily braid her hair and tuck it into her cloak. It tangled relentlessly, snagged by the trees. Her cloak fared no better.

Rustling sounded beyond the general static of the tree canopy. Narcissa looked around and caught a flash of white between two trees. She hadn’t seen the woman (she would call her that regardless of what Bella said) since Bella had thrown that rock at her. The woman seemed to have turned leery because of it. She approached slowly, her gaze panning the woods.

“Hello,” Narcissa greeted her, although she didn’t expect a reply. Sure enough, the woman just stared at her.

Narcissa sat down on one of the large roots that dug deep into the forest floor. The woman studied her longer, looked like she debated something, and then came closer. She still kept her distance, opting to leave about twenty feet between her and Narcissa before she folded her hands in front of her. Some of her fingers were brown where bark edged in.

“What do you eat?” Narcissa asked. She was just as doubtful the woman would understand that. She gestured toward her mouth with the tips of her fingers touched together.

The woman tilted her head before she disappeared behind a quick image in Narcissa’s mind. It felt like an involuntary flex of her imagination. It lasted long enough for what looked like a bush dotted with red to appear.

“Yes.” Narcissa nodded, excited that she may have found a way to communicate if speech wasn’t how. “Food.”

It was probably Narcissa’s eager response that signified a confirmation to the woman. She gestured Narcissa to follow, which became immediately difficult. As soon as the woman turned her back to Narcissa, she camouflaged against the forest. Narcissa could still see her form moving, but she was careful not to blink just in case she lost track of her. Narcissa stumbled from not paying attention to her feet. She had to watch again for signs of movement before carrying on.

The sound of running water came. A little brook marked a split in the forest, down which the woman followed in her bare feet. Narcissa was careful not to slip on the rocks as she held her cloak aloft. She wished she had more practical clothing for this place, although the woman’s dress didn’t seem to snag on anything at all.

The berry bush Narcissa had seen appeared. There were a lot more than just one, and with different varieties. The woman started picking the red ones and pointed Narcissa at the blue ones. They weren’t any kind that Narcissa recognized by appearance or taste.

As abundant they were, Narcissa didn’t think there would be enough to actually nourish her. The woman led Narcissa further down the brook after they’d eaten their fill. The brook let into a large pool that dropped off fast and deep.

Narcissa didn’t react quickly enough to make a noise, but she jumped a little when she saw the top of a head and two eyes peering out of the pool’s centre. Whoever it was dipped below the surface. A few minutes later, the water swelled nearby as the surface broke again. A man walked up onto the minimal shallows, his body covered with moss. Cradled in his arms like a baby was a fish. He set it on the grass far enough away that it couldn’t flop back into the water. While he returned to the pool, the fish gasped for breath.

The woman picked it up when it stilled. She brought it over to Narcissa, finally coming close enough for them to stand toe to toe. Rather than accept the fish, Narcissa studied her closer. When their gazes met again for long enough, another picture popped into Narcissa’s mind. From where she stood now, she glimpsed a different sight of this pool. The man she’d just seen was sitting on a rock on the opposite side playing what looked like a violin. A blonde woman sat on the shore with her feet in the water. As Narcissa thought on it while accepting the fish, she recognized the straight nose, full lips, and wave to her hair. It was a young Hildegard.

That didn’t come as a complete shock. Narcissa already suspected that Hildegard had something to do with this island, since it was in Norway. Narcissa had a strong feeling this was once Hildegard’s home, but it was a weird place to think of her calling that. Narcissa would never visualize Hildegard here otherwise, based on what she knew of her.

Nose wrinkled, Narcissa carried the fish back to the house. She cooked it carefully, since she didn’t want any of it to go to waste. She didn’t know how long the creatures of this island would be willing to help before they expected her to fend for herself. It wouldn’t be so hard if Bella had left Narcissa her wand.

Narcissa ate half the fish and put the rest in the ice box. While she slept later, Narcissa’s eyes snapped opened as she roused out of deep slumber. She strained her ears and heard another noise come from downstairs.

Because Narcissa was alone, she didn’t think much about things like locking the door. She hoped it was Wesley, but had a sneaking suspicion that the woman operated on a tit-for-tat system. Since she had fed Narcissa, that opened the house to her. Narcissa wouldn’t have been surprised to see her (and might not have even minded the company), but she sighed somewhere between irritation and relief to see that the door for Bella’s room had reappeared on the landing. Downstairs, Wesley was putting food into the ice box.

He turned around to grab something else off the table and jumped with a gasp when he saw her. He clapped a hand to his chest. “Merlin, Narcissa! Don’t sneak up on an old man like that.”

Narcissa crossed her arms and leaned against the arched frame separating the kitchen from the keeping room. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Wesley looked around, on edge. “Really, I am. Theo and Daphne were trying to get going on their trip, and I couldn’t get away.”

“Meanwhile, I just about ran out of food.” Narcissa’s stomach roiled as all her anxiety turned to anger. “The Dark Lord left you one job to do while he’s abroad. The least you could do for him, if not me, is to do it properly.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Wesley said again. “I hauled arse to get up here. I should’ve stopped to sleep, but I flew straight.”

He did look tired, but it hardly softened Narcissa. After waiting for Wesley for a week and looking forward to some kind of company, she hardly felt like she cared to see him now.

“I’m going back to bed,” she told him. “You know where yours is.”

Narcissa closed her bedroom door with a snap upstairs and continued to seethe as she tried to doze back off. She roused briefly again when Wesley’s footsteps reached the landing and headed past for Bella’s room.

The sleep Narcissa lapsed into was fitful at best. She didn’t feel very rested when she got up later. Her wish to be a good host made her feel she ought to prepare some of the food Wesley had brought. Narcissa picked at her leftover fish while studying everything new in the ice box. It was more than she had been left with last time, which annoyed Narcissa anew at the implication that Wesley maybe didn’t intend to return again for a while.

It was the warmer part of the day, which didn’t say a whole lot. Narcissa bundled up in her cloak and sat outside in the shade of the kitchen porch. The slight breeze was cool against her cheek and eyelids. She opened her eyes again when the kitchen door creaked, the colours of the yard muted as her vision needed to readjust to the light. Wesley dropped down onto the other seat. He rubbed one eye while yawning.

Rather than ask how he’d slept, Narcissa pretended to be interested in something where he wasn’t included in her field of view.

“Look, I get you’re mad,” Wesley eventually said. “I would be too. I can’t imagine anyone wants to be here alone.”

“This place is fine,” Narcissa stiffly replied. “It’s being alone that’s hard. How often do _you_ go at least a week without talking to somebody? Or seeing somebody?”

“More often than I’d care to admit.”

Narcissa exhaled a spurt of air. “That doesn’t include shopkeepers and things like that. I sincerely doubt you know what _this_ kind of silence feels like. Then add onto that the fear maybe you’re not coming at all, and if you don’t, what will I do until Bella and the Dark Lord return? Who knows how long _that_ could be? I’ve gone months before without seeing my sister.”

Wesley didn’t reply right away. When Narcissa chanced a glance at him to find out what the weight of her words were, he just looked tired again.

“I don’t know what else you want me to tell you,” he said. “I tried to get here as quickly as I could. Now that the kids are gone, it won’t be a problem. I brought extra food just in case, and I thought since I have nothing to go home to I’d stay for a few days. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

Narcissa pursed her lips. Despite already admitting to Wesley that the loneliness of this place crushed her, it was still hard to say she wanted his company. Considering how much Wesley seemed to dislike this place, offering to stick around was generous.

“Feel free,” she told him. “It’s not like I have any say on who comes or goes.”

His quiet sigh competed with the breeze in audibility. “All right, then.”

Narcissa knew she wasn’t exactly pleasant company. She ought to be grateful when Wesley did his best to get here. After so many days passing without the sun dipping below the horizon, Narcissa couldn’t really conceive just _how_ far north they were. She’d always thought Hogwarts was far enough north, nestled in the Scottish highlands, but even its longest days had distinct nights.

“So what _is_ this place?” Wesley asked to break the silence. “Property of the Ramstads?”

“I don’t know.” Narcissa shrugged. “Hildegard never told me about it if it is.”

“I guess there isn’t much else for places to go for now. Malfoy Manor will be off the table for the Dark Lord.”

Narcissa’s nerves fluttered. “Why do you say that?”

“The Ministry’s been crawling all over it ever since Lucius was arrested.”

“Oh.” Narcissa looked away again.

“Is that why you ran?” Wesley asked. “You thought you’d be in the same boat as Lucius?” 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Narcissa answered. “You would think the Dark Lord would’ve been happy I didn’t allow myself to get caught. Not that I would’ve turned on him, but I at least spared him the worry.”

“Hm.”

“Bella thinks differently, I know, and I could make an educated guess on what she told you.” Narcissa crossed her legs. “She thought I was running from the Dark Lord just because I happened to leave the night Lucius was arrested. She’s been very paranoid, more than usual since Hugo and Everett dropped off the map. I can’t fault her for that. I would be too.”

“I guess it’s easier to keep you here than try and keep an eye on you.” Wesley relaxed a little, leaned back with his fingers folded over his stomach. “Losing Lucius was a massive blow.”

Narcissa nodded stiffly, her throat tight. She missed Lucius, or at least what they used to be. She couldn’t reconcile the man she’d fallen in love with to the person now sitting in a cell on the North Sea.

“Is it too personal to ask what Lucius did for you to go?” Wesley hesitantly said.

“He hit Draco.” Narcissa’s chest ached again to think of him. “It was bad enough Severus sent me an owl from Hogwarts. Right on his face with the butt of his cane, if you’d imagine. What if Lucius had broken something? My poor boy, having to go back to Hogwarts looking like that.”

It still upset Narcissa. She grew sad all over again that nearly a year had passed since she last saw her son. He didn’t come home for the holidays, which made Narcissa wonder if Draco lumped her in with how his father had treated him. She hadn’t been a bad mother, had she? Maybe she had, for granting Lucius the belief that striking Draco in _any_ capacity was somehow constructive to his character.

“Theo never said anything about it,” Wesley replied, “although I suppose these days it’s not really something you put into letters.”

“Does Theo talk about Draco at all?” Narcissa asked. “Has he said how Draco’s been?”

“They haven’t seen each other since term ended, at least that I know about. I didn’t ask.”

Narcissa worried about Draco anew. If the Ministry was all over Malfoy Manor—if they had seized it as part of a criminal investigation—then where was Draco living? Obviously not Ramstad Manor, if it was likely being treated the same way. Narcissa could at least be relieved that Draco wasn’t alone.

“Miss him, huh?” Wesley asked.

Narcissa nodded. “All the time.”

“I wish I could tell you anything new,” Wesley said with a sigh. “The last I saw of him was at grad, and he was doing just fine then. He clearly wasn’t worried about what comes next for him.”

“That’s good.” Another pang hit Narcissa. “I don’t suppose he had any guests, did he?”

“He did,” Wesley replied. “Well, maybe not. I have a feeling they were his girlfriend’s. They weren’t speaking English when I was close enough to hear.”

“Oh.” Narcissa felt all the worse she couldn’t be there. Draco should’ve never had to go through such a crucial moment in his life without her. “I wonder if they were Dagmar’s family from Norway.”

“Maybe.”

“So where are Theo and Daphne going?” Narcissa changed the subject before it could make her feel any worse.

“Er, left for Paris yesterday or. . .day before. I have no idea what day it technically is now.” Wesley managed a laugh as he ran his fingers back through his hair. “Theo said they were going up through Belgium, the Netherlands, and then into Scandinavia before they came home for a bit. I told him to send me an owl once in a while, but I doubt he will. I can’t blame him for wanting to spend some time with his fiancée.”

“No.” Narcissa smiled. “They’re getting married next summer?”

“Supposedly, but they haven’t done any concrete planning,” Wesley said. “They still haven’t decided on things like how big to make it and all that. I wouldn’t be surprised that they put it off, especially if they catch a serious travel bug. I caught a hint that Daphne wants a baby right after they get married, so I can’t imagine she’ll let Theo go too long before they start hammering out the details.”

“Imagine _you_ , a grandfather.”

“I know, right? It happens to the best of us.” Wesley chuckled. “What about you? Know of any grandchildren in your future?”

“I’m not totally sure, but I’d like to assume so.” Narcissa had had a terrible pregnancy and birth with Draco. While she would’ve done it again, she ended up not being able to. She and Lucius made the decision to stop trying when Narcissa started losing track of how many miscarriages she’d had. “Back when Draco was still arranged to marry Pansy, Rose used to talk about us being grandmothers. Pansy may have told her something along those lines, but Draco hasn’t said anything to me about it with Dagmar.”

“I would imagine it’s hard to say with less than a year under their belts.” Wesley crossed his ankles as he made himself more comfortable. “Draco must have wanted kids then, if Pansy was on about it.”

“Must have.”

Narcissa never heard him personally speak about it, but Draco could be a private person anyway. While Narcissa had a pretty strong feeling that Draco and Dagmar were having sex by the end of last summer since Dagmar slept over all the time, they’d kept mostly everything to themselves. Narcissa was okay with it because it meant her will for Draco to take a step away from his father’s footsteps was panning out. She still wished she’d learned it came to fruition in a better way than what Lucius had done with that information. Narcissa would’ve thought he’d be relieved for Draco.

“I was a little surprised to hear that their arrangement fell through,” Wesley said. “What happened? Theo figured Draco ended it, although he wouldn’t say.”

“I’ll tell you, but don’t tell Theo if Draco didn’t want him to know,” Narcissa replied. “It was mine and Lucius’ decision. Pansy was a good girl, but we wanted to align closer with fellow Death Eaters. We asked Draco to consider going with Dagmar instead. He ended up agreeing once they’d spent some time together to see how they got on.”

Wesley’s eyebrows popped up and he made a sound in his throat. “This last summer? That’s a bit late to make a change, isn’t it? Draco and Pansy were pretty involved for Draco to cut it so easily.”

“I’m not sure they wound up so good for each other.” Narcissa shrugged. “It was fine until they started going together. They were quite immature as a couple. I talked to Draco right away about Natalise Potion so that they didn’t wind up making a huge mistake before they were out of school. It didn’t really get any better as they got older. It’s like they were stuck at fourteen together.”

“That’s not good.”

“No.” Narcissa readjusted her cloak tighter around her. “Draco can be so temperamental anyway. He needed somebody that brought out the good in him rather than how petulant he can be.”

“You don’t worry about him distancing himself from you and Lucius?” Wesley sounded hesitant to ask. “Theo mentioned that Draco stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas.”

“He has before,” Narcissa said. “He stayed as a prefect.”

“Hm.” Wesley looked out over the backyard, idly working his lips in thought. “Theo’s been distancing himself. I don’t hold it against him. This war should’ve been over by now. We all made this sacrifice so that our children didn’t have to.”

Narcissa idly nodded. She’d thought when Draco was young that it might actually be over. She didn’t like that the Dark Lord returned just as Draco was creeping up to an age where he might end up being the third generation involved. In hindsight, Narcissa had enjoyed the quiet while the Dark Lord was gone. She, Lucius, and Draco were just a family. It didn’t even hardly matter that half-bloods and Muggle-borns dominated the wizarding world number-wise because the Malfoys were still a cut above the rest. Look at them now, after the Dark Lord’s return. All three had gone their separate ways, and Narcissa had no idea when any of their paths would cross. So long as Azkaban remained secure under Auror protection, it was likely neither Narcissa or Draco would ever see Lucius again.

“It’s gone on too long,” Narcissa agreed. “If the Dark Lord was set back, I fear to wonder how much longer it could go on yet.”

“Well, the Dark Lord isn’t young,” Wesley replied. “It’s possible he could die naturally in the next thirty or forty years.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together. That was still a very long time to wait it out. It also depended how the Dark Lord’s new body fared him. He was as sharp as ever, so his mind certainly wasn’t on the decline. Narcissa had glimpsed some signs that perhaps physically he started to deteriorate, such as twitchiness and some issues with dexterity as he tried to use cutlery at meals.

“I don’t see an end,” Narcissa said. “Not as things are now.”

“Me neither. I guess we just have to do what we can to move things along. I think the Dark Lord at least realized he was wasting his time hunting Harry Potter while Dumbledore protects him. He must figure that whatever he’s looking for will make it easier for him to come out on top.”

“No idea what that is?”

Wesley shook his head. “Bella wouldn’t be able to gloat about being the only person outside Azkaban to know if she told me.”

“Hm.”

Narcissa certainly felt better in ways to talk to Wesley about it. It wasn’t just her imagination that this war had taken the wind out of everyone’s sails. The only person Narcissa could say hadn’t been demoralized by the length and intensity of it was Bella. If she missed Rod with their separation, she showed no sign of it.

When Narcissa stood to head back into the kitchen, Wesley looked up at her.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.


	7. Paris

Just like the previous Monday, Harry woke up impossibly early and wasn’t able to fall back asleep. He couldn’t help but run through all the possibilities that his first day as an Auror might hold. It could be as boring as learning how to fill out a field report, or maybe Harry and Parasca would jump right into it. Parasca had seemed just as eager last week to do so.

Harry stepped off the Ministry lifts at quarter to eight. He was happy to see that Parasca had already beat him there. She looked up from whatever form she was working on when Harry entered their cubicle.

“Good morning,” she brightly greeted him. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ll be leaving within the next half-hour.”

“Where are we going?”

“Paris,” she replied. “Marigot returned my owl on Friday. She’s expecting us at ten o’clock, her local time.”

Harry looked up at the wall of clocks that showed different times in other major cities around the magical world. He knew already that Paris was only an hour ahead, but Harry got the feeling now it wouldn’t be long before he could intuitively recall more time zones than that off the top of his head.

He unlocked his desk after sitting down, and slid in one half of the messenger pair he’d bought in Diagon Alley. The other one was at home so that he didn’t have to cart any sensitive information back and forth.

“What’re you working on, then?” Harry asked.

“Oh, just something to let Kingsley know where we’re going.” Parasca pushed it closer toward him, rolling her chair along with it. “He’s too busy to hover over each and every one of us, so one copy goes to his office for records and the other—” she lifted the top sheet to show a duplicate, “—goes in our box outside the cubicle in case anyone comes looking for us. They’ll know where we are and when we can be expected back.”

Harry read over the form as she carried on. They were slated to leave at eight-thirty and be back by noon. Such a short visit sort of disappointed Harry. By the time they returned for lunch, they might have some good information to hash out over the afternoon.

“Oh,” Harry said as he remembered what little bit of news he could bring to the office today. “I talked to Malfoy and Ramstad about interviewing them. They’re good to meet up.”

“Did you arrange a time and place?”

“Not yet,” Harry replied. “I didn’t know what our schedule was like, so I didn’t want to set anything in stone.”

“You have time to send an owl before we leave,” Parasca said. “I’m of the opinion we should move as fast as we can. See what their earliest convenience is.”

Harry’s desk had been filled with basic supplies at some point in the last week. He thought about Hermione as he pulled out his first piece of parchment and a brand new quill. She was probably experiencing a similar thrill a few floors below Harry.

Quill tip just about to touch the parchment, Harry paused. He’d never written to Malfoy or Ramstad before. At least since the three of them were more cordial than friendly, a bare-bones letter devoid of crucial information was suitable to the depth of Harry’s relationship with them.

He didn’t bother addressing them in the header:

_Going to the mainland today. Date, time, location? MM won’t work._

Harry hoped Malfoy and Ramstad were sharp enough to realize MM stood for Malfoy Manor. It would’ve been the obvious place to meet up if Parasca was a member of the Order. Harry idly tried to think of another location. Grimmauld Place came to mind, but it would still require Parasca talking to Dumbledore in order to gain access. Harry was also keen to leave his home and workplace as separate as possible.

“‘MM’?” Parasca peered over Harry’s shoulder.

“Just a code,” Harry said. Not that he could actually reveal Malfoy Manor, but it was best to keep the new Order headquarters’ location as tight-lipped as possible. It wouldn’t look good for Malfoy and Ramstad if news of it reached Voldemort.

Parasca didn’t ask Harry to elaborate, although she seemed amused he wouldn’t explain himself to her unprompted. Harry thought maybe that was a good sign he’d passed some sort of test he didn’t know she set on him.

He headed for the Ministry owlery and picked one of the most generic looking owls to attach the letter to. Harry told it to head to Bergen for Malfoy. He wondered, given the distance, how long it would be until he could expect a reply. Harry doubted today. According to the large map on the wall, it was almost six-hundred and fifty miles one way.

Parasca waited for Harry outside. “We ought to get going.”

They headed down to the Atrium. From there, they went to the Grand Floo Junction. Harry had never been here before. Based on the complaints he’d heard, this wasn’t very busy. He supposed not a whole lot of people travelled for pleasure at this time of the day or week. Most everyone Harry and Parasca passed were dressed similarly to them, either in nice robes or a suit with a briefcase in-hand.

There were a few different floo exits for Paris. Parasca led Harry to the one that would take them straight to the Ministry. The length of time it took to cross the English Channel reminded Harry of jumping from Bergen to Tromsø back in February. He was starting to get dizzy when somewhere finally appeared for him to step out of the fireplace to. Parasca waited there.

The French Ministry’s atrium stood tall with four massive, bewitched windows in place of walls that looked down over the chaotic, cramped streets of Paris. Harry had a hard time believing he was underground and not in a skyscraper of sorts. While Parasca led Harry toward the lifts, Harry did his best not to bump into anyone as he continued to peer out the window. He wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, but couldn’t find it.

It appeared when Harry and Parasca got off the lift on the seventh level. As they walked down a corridor, the windows alongside it were bewitched to show a different part of the city, one that included the Tower.

“In here.” Parasca directed Harry through a set of doors.

The French Auror office didn’t look much different from back home. Harry appreciated that the lot occupying it seemed too focused on their work to pay him and Parasca mind. As they came up on Elodie Marigot’s office, she stepped out. Her curly hair was pulled back, and her jaw was set.

“Good morning,” Marigot greeted both of them. She at least sounded nicer than how stern she looked would indicate. She extended a hand to Parasca. “It’s been a long time, Kat. And you must be Harry Potter.”

Harry shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Marigot offered a quick smile, contradicting how the lines on her face naturally trended downwards. “Come in. Take a seat.”

Marigot stood to the side in her office and closed the door behind Harry and Parasca. Marigot gestured them to sit as she herself went to the other side of her desk.

She folded her arms on the desktop. “This was an interesting way to start my work week. What exactly did you need to meet me about?”

“Well, Harry and I are searching for someone as part of the ongoing effort to undermine Voldemort,” Parasca said. “Harry, you’re closer to how that all came about than I am. Would you fill her in?”

“Erm, sure.” Harry sat up straighter, his cheeks warming slightly to be put on the spot. He took a minute, heart picking up, to get the story straight before he presented it. “Last summer, an Auror in the British office—our office,” he corrected himself, “overheard a couple known Death Eaters that were drunk talking about a meeting they’d attended at Ramstad Manor. You met the Ramstads later on—”

Marigot nodded, lips tightening. “I did.”

“Those two Death Eaters ended up defecting. Kingsley found them around Christmas. When we interviewed them about what they were doing for Voldemort, they told us they were looking for a man named Magnus Norheim. They’d all narrowed him down to somewhere between Zurich and Barcelona.”

“Do you have a picture of him?” Marigot asked.

“Er. . .” Harry replied, but Parasca reached into the inside pocket of her robe. She unfolded one Harry recognized.

“This is the last one taken of him that we could find.” Parasca slid it across the desk to Marigot. “It’s from 1976, when he graduated from Kapsferd.”

Marigot studied the picture thoughtfully, chin clasped. “It’s hard to say what someone might look like, twenty-two years later. I don’t recognize him from this, nor have I ever heard the name. What does Voldemort want with him, if you know?”

“We don’t know for sure, but we can guess,” Harry said. “Crabbe and Goyle were instructed to bring Norheim to Voldemort alive. It sounded as if maybe Norheim stole something from him. Whether or not it’s important enough to impact the war, Voldemort seems to think so. He’s given up for now on trying to get to me. It’s been two years since him and I crossed paths.

“It also has something to do with the Ramstads,” Harry added with a thought toward Hildegard and Erik. “They had some kind of mutual interest in finding Norheim, and it’s our belief that it might be the only reason the two of them even became Death Eaters. They only joined Voldemort when he came back in 1995.”

Marigot hummed, although none of what Harry said seemed to trigger her memory or knowledge. “Hildegard isn’t talking?”

“No,” Harry replied. “Lucius Malfoy won’t either.”

“Yet,” Parasca said. “We’re working on that.”

Harry nodded. “We’re going to meet with Dagmar and with Lucius’ son to figure out what might loosen their tongues.”

Marigot narrowed her eyes in thought. “Draco, right?”

“You know him?” Harry asked.

“Not personally.” Marigot shook her head. “I remember his name from when the Ramstads were here. Dagmar had a messenger that I flipped through while I waited to hear back from Dumbledore. Draco had the other one.”

As much as Harry hesitated, given his apparent snooping into their relationship in the past, he had to ask. “Anything interesting?”

“Nothing more than your standard girlfriend-boyfriend stuff.” Marigot shrugged. “I just recall it being interesting she was dating the son of a once-suspected Death Eater, especially considering what Dagmar was in this office for in the first place.”

Harry hadn’t thought yet that he might be sitting in the exact same chair Ramstad once did.

“They’re cooperating, though?” Marigot asked. “I’m curious whatever came of Dagmar. I’d hoped that night to impress deeply on her how serious what she did was, self-defence or not.”

“She was in my year at Hogwarts,” Harry replied. “One of the top of the class, and our mutual friend Hermione said she got straight Os on her NEWTs. She’s gone to Norway to be a Healer at the hospital in Bergen.”

“That’s comforting to know then, that she actually _was_ as bright as Professor Snape impressed.” Marigot exhaled through her nose. “I had some serious doubts, considering the curse she used. Honestly, I still kind of do.”

“Like what?”

Marigot shook her head, gaze shrewd as she studied the wall of her office. “Even though there was nothing to stick her to the wall with, I’m uncomfortable that I was so close to Death Eaters without realizing. I had told her that in France we pay extra attention to British wizards, given the current climate there. It was also very interesting to see an extinct curse return from the dead. I suppose it’s only natural to wonder what I might have missed.”

“If it helps, she’s good at wandless magic,” Harry said, and then hesitated. “Well, I found out when we got back to Hogwarts, which was after you met her. We duelled on our first day back to classes. She stunned me after I disarmed her.”

“I was impressed by that.” Parasca glanced at Marigot. “I taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this last year.”

“Did you?” Marigot finally managed another brief smile. “Did you find her ability to do that strange at all?”

“It put her ahead of the rest of the year in wandless magic, far as I could tell.” Parasca crossed her legs. “I talked about it with the Transfiguration and Charms professors afterward. Dagmar excelled in their classes too, although she was markedly better in a combat setting by the sounds of it.”

“She burned herself,” Harry remembered. “Snape had to help her with the magic conduits in her arm. He said it took about a month of applying a combination of burn salve and cleansing potion for it to fully heal.”

“I remember that burn,” Marigot said. “She got it the night she used the Heafonfýr Curse in Nice. It looked like lightning down the back of her hand and forearm.”

“So then maybe it just flared up again when she stunned me like that,” Harry said. “If she was in pain, makes sense why she wasn’t as good at it in other classes for a little while. She definitely picked up after a slow start. Her and Malfoy got tons of house points off McGonagall and Professor Flitwick for how good they were at it.”

Harry’s investigation and observation of Ramstad had led nowhere. They were allied now, although Harry had to acknowledge the tenuous circumstances that led to that. Ramstad hadn’t joined the Order purely out of the desire to see Voldemort defeated. It wasn’t until her parents had been exposed, her father killed, that Ramstad was compelled to pick a side.

“I suppose,” Marigot conceded with a new shrug. “I’m biased by what my limited scope of experience was with her. I would trust your judgement since I’m sure, given your own relationship with Voldemort, it’s hard not to look critically at anybody that fits a certain kind of mold.”

“Yeah, I spent a lot of time thinking she might be up to something, but it never went anywhere. She proved herself in my eyes that her own involvement with the Death Eaters was nothing more than what she couldn’t help. Her parents joining was completely unexpected, and she’s done her best since then to distance herself.”

There was still something a little off about Ramstad, but Harry separated that now from Voldemort. If it had nothing to do with him, then Harry didn’t have the capacity to really care about it. It wasn’t his business either. Ramstad was a very private person. Harry recalled clearly the difference in her between when she interacted with friends and when she and Harry were paired up in Defence class. Snape hadn’t been kidding when he said she was a proficient Occlumens. If Ramstad never cared to lower her guard, Harry doubted he would’ve gotten so much as a glimpse of her personality behind that wall.

“It sounds more fruitful to focus on this Norheim fellow instead.” Marigot’s gaze flickered briefly down to his smiling picture, still laid on her desk. “You said you figured the Ramstads had some kind of common interest with Voldemort in finding him?”

“It seemed that way. They clearly didn’t want to be there.” Harry nodded. “The first night we interviewed the defected Death Eaters, they both gave us the memory of when they met the Ramstads. One of the Death Eaters, Goyle, said that he got the sense there was history. We hit a wall on that too, so we have no idea what that’s about.”

“A weapon, maybe?” Marigot suggested. “Is it possible the Ramstads helped him develop it?”

“Maybe not Erik, if that’s the case,” Harry said. “We can’t confirm anything prior to 1985. Erik and Hildegard were for sure together then, because that’s when they both appeared in Bergen. We know where Erik lived prior to that, but Hildegard and Dagmar aren’t there with him on paper. Erik and Hildegard only got married in 1986.”

“Would he have taken the Dark Mark if he wasn’t involved, though?” Marigot asked.

Harry hummed in thought. He hadn’t looked at it that way yet, so tangled as he was on the idea that Erik had only gotten involved later. Considering the Ramstad family background, Harry thought it more likely that once Erik had found out Hildegard was involved with Voldemort, he’d leave her and go home to Norway.

“Gets a little more complicated with a child involved, maybe,” he said. “If Dagmar was at Hogwarts at the time too, it’s not like he could just disappear with her. Dumbledore knew before our first year started that Voldemort was back, but I’m not sure who else did. I don’t think it was common knowledge.”

“My office heard rumours in ‘92 or so that he might be back in Britain.” Marigot leaned back in her seat. “I’d wished we knew sooner. Of course, in hindsight, you always think that if Quirrell, or whatever his name was, passed through France on his way home from holiday, we might have caught him.”

“I felt the same way after I learned I’d been chasing Voldemort in Albania,” Parasca replied with a nod. “You don’t sleep right for a while after realizing you might have been able to stop the war from picking up again.”

Another thought occurred to Harry while they talked about Erik Ramstad. Why hadn’t he gone to Dumbledore? Before Voldemort got his new body, he wasn’t really much of a threat. Harry had bested him at eleven years old with Ron and Hermione. Until Harry arrived at the Little Hangleton graveyard three years later, Voldemort was weak and quiet. If Dumbledore knew about Magnus Norheim back then, he might have been able to help the Ramstads sever their ties before Voldemort returned.

Marigot didn’t have much else for them. She kept the picture of Magnus Norheim for reference and so that she could compare it against the likes of French prisoners and obituaries. Harry didn’t let his hopes climb very high that it would get them anywhere. He’d hit enough walls already since first hearing Norheim’s name to know better.

Harry and Parasca returned to the London Auror office. Harry brought out his work messenger after they resettled in their cubicle. He tapped the messenger five times, and the pages crinkled up as its contents resurfaced. He read through them all and updated where he could:

_ Magnus Norheim   
_ _Status: hiding if alive  
_ _Born: January 12th 1959 in Trondheim, Norway  
_ _Alliances: not with Voldemort  
_ _Connections: Hildegard Ramstad (possible romance or work), Dagmar Ramstad (possible biological daughter), Voldemort (stole something valuable)  
_ _Whereabouts: suspected between Bern, Switzerland and Barcelona, Spain. Nice has been somewhat combed but not thoroughly. Has drawn no attention to himself with French Ministry if there_

_\- Attended Kapsferd 1970-1976  
_ _\- Disappeared late 1982/early 1983 according to sister Marit (stated wanting to travel)_

_Hildegard Ramstad_ _(possibly not actual name, maiden name unknown)  
_ _Status: imprisoned in Azkaban  
_ _Born: May 15th, 1962 (according to Dagmar) in unknown location   
_ _Alliances: self, Voldemort (possible blackmail or common interest)  
_ _Connections: Malfoys (betrothed Dagmar to Draco summer 1997 and friends with Lucius/Narcissa before summer 1995), Lestranges (Bellatrix/Rodolphus helping find Norheim (Voldemort’s most trusted?)), Hugo Crabbe/Everett Goyle (not close, legmen), Erik Ramstad (married 1986), Dagmar Ramstad (daughter), Magnus Norheim (previous possible romance/work partner)_

_\- did not attend any nearby schools (Kapsferd, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons)  
_ _\- appears only in 1985 in Bergen with Erik and Dagmar  
_ _\- believes Voldemort is the only one that could help her with whatever Norheim is about_

_ Erik Ramstad   
_ _Status: dead, sacrificed self for Voldemort March 19, 1998  
_ _Born: February 17, 1962 at Ramstad Manor  
_ _Alliances: self, Voldemort (possible blackmail or common interest)  
_ _Connections: Malfoys (betrothed Dagmar to Draco summer 1997 and friends with Lucius/Narcissa before summer 1995), Lestranges, Hugo Crabbe/Everett Goyle, Hildegard Ramstad (married 1986), Dagmar Ramstad (daughter but possibly adopted), Magnus Norheim(?)  
_ _  
\- attended Kapsferd 1973-1979 (no known affiliation with Norheim during)  
_ _\- lived in Tromsø after finishing school. Owned flat (Hildegard was not part-owner)_

Harry had also made a profile up for each of his schoolmates that he’d been watching last year (except Luca). At the end, he had compiled a list of leads and questions.

Parasca did the same beside Harry, her quill still scratching against her notebook. “Seeing anything new?”

“Not really.” Harry leaned over his desk with his forehead in his hand, reading again. “I don’t get how we can hit so many walls in trying to find something out about one person.”

“He’s a well-guarded secret, granted.” Parasca glanced over at Harry. “If you start feeling frustrated, I find it helpful to think about how much you know now versus when you first heard his name. Then it starts to look like progress, right?”

“I guess.” Harry flipped idly through his messenger. “I just can’t help but think we’re dancing around it. There’s a connection here somewhere, but I can’t see it. I can see that Hildegard and Norheim maybe worked on something with Voldemort, but then Norheim ran off with it. Maybe Erik just came later, or I guess he could’ve been there after he was done at Kapsferd. I wonder if Norheim has ever been to Tromsø, seeing as Erik lived there.”

“See, there you go.” Parasca smiled encouragingly. “You could write that down somewhere. I wouldn’t mind taking a trip to Trondheim at some point to see what the sister has to say. Maybe _she_ met Hildegard and Erik.”


	8. Volunteers

Dagmar was first downstairs the next morning, intent to put water on to boil while Draco finished dressing for the day. She’d registered while they had a lie-in that Heimdall was chattering at something downstairs, thundering around as he went from window to window in the living room. Dagmar figured he was being annoying on purpose to motivate them to get up and let him outside.

An owl sat out on the deck railing with a note attached to its leg. Dagmar didn’t recognize it. She had a fight ahead of her at the kitchen door, trying to keep Heimdall inside while she went out to see what mail had come. She nearly caught Heimdall’s paw once when he tried to make a run for it. Dagmar had to settle to leave the sliding door open a gap. She looked back at it to make sure Heimdall hadn’t managed to push it open. He was trying—sort of. One of his paws was poking through.

The owl bounced away from Dagmar when she tried to collect the note. She shrugged and went back inside. Heimdall kept on with the theatrics, which Dagmar quietly laughed at.

“Has he gone mental?” Draco asked when he came downstairs. “Why don’t you just let him out?”

“Post came for you,” Dagmar replied. “Heimr wants the owl.”

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered.” Draco tried to catch Heimdall as he jumped off the back of the love seat and sprinted for the sliding door. “He knows better than to go after one.”

Draco picked up Heimdall and brought him over to Dagmar to restrain. There were some leftover sausages in the ice box they’d intended to heat up for lunch, one of which Draco broke a chunk off for the owl. The owl happily accepted it after Draco untied the letter. It headed for the owlery for a proper rest. When it flew past the kitchen window, Heimdall thrashed about in Dagmar’s arms so he could see it.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Dagmar told him. She packed him over to the garden door and dropped him on the porch. “Get out.”

Heimdall went around to the deck and leapt up onto the rail where the owl had just been sitting. His yellow eyes were wide and unblinking as he surveyed around.

“It’s like his two brain cells forgot the other one exists,” Dagmar jested as Draco let himself back into the kitchen. “Who’s the note from?”

“It’s not signed, but I’ll wager Potter.” Draco handed it over to Dagmar to read. “Thoughts?”

Dagmar hummed after passing it back. If Malfoy Manor was off-limits for a meeting, then Ramstad Manor would be too. The water Dagmar boiled came up, so she poured some of it into the mug she made Draco tea in. Draco had started getting the coffee press together to return the favour.

“He didn’t suggest his own place, so I guess that’s not an option,” she said. “Can’t do anywhere in public, at least not in Britain. They probably wouldn’t be opposed to coming here, would they? Maybe at the restaurant at the inn?”

“That’s still pretty public.” Draco folded his arms. “Potter isn’t exactly somebody that flies under the radar, probably not even in this part of the world.”

“That’s true.” Dagmar shrugged. “We could just invite them here. There isn’t a Fidelius Charm for Professor Parasca to get around.”

“I don’t see why not.”

The owl Potter sent would need some time to rest, so neither Dagmar or Draco were in a rush to write their reply. Once their drinks had steeped, they headed out onto the deck to enjoy them. The gentle breeze pushed the stray, curly hairs that framed Dagmar’s face into her eyes. She tucked them back behind her ear. “Have you thought much about what you could give Potter?”

“Sort of.” Draco blew on his tea before sipping it. Some of the steam redirected into his mouth. “I wish he’d told us more what my father was like when the Aurors or Dumbledore interviewed him. I don’t really know what to base my ideas on. I don’t know what Father thinks happened to Mum, or if he’s even heard she’s gone. Do you reckon the Aurors would’ve told him about that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I guess it doesn’t really have much bearing on what ideas I have,” Draco said. “I just can’t see past me and Mum, since I’m pretty sure at some level we’re ultimately Father’s motivation. You-Know-Who promised him a world where we’d be on top. Father’s been helping him try to achieve that.”

“So what do you think, then?”

“Maybe my father will talk to _me_.”

Dagmar made a sound in her throat, uncertain. “Do you really want to get that involved? We’re trying to make it look like we’re staying out of it. If your father breaks out, that’s not something I’m comfortable at all with Voldemort knowing.”

“How would he break out?” Draco asked. “Azkaban is guarded by Aurors.”

“Barty Crouch’s son, Sirius Black, all those Death Eaters a few years ago. . .” Dagmar listed off. “It’s not impossible.”

“The dementors could be tricked. I don’t think the Aurors can.”

Dagmar made another sound, still unsure. Potter was high-profile, yes, but so was Draco in ways. He was the son of Voldemort’s most influential Death Eater. “So you’d go there with Potter? You don’t see a problem with being seen with him?”

“We could go under guise of visiting our parents,” Draco said. “There doesn’t have to be anything about picking sides with that. Maybe Potter just won’t come.”

Dagmar took a drink from her coffee. The idea of seeing her mum again gripped her by the throat with anxiety. Being so far away, Dagmar could pretend in ways that things were all right. Dagmar had a mental block about her dad’s ashes, where she didn’t see the hefty little urn sitting on the fireplace mantle as really being him.

“Would you want me to do that too?” Dagmar asked. “Go to Azkaban and talk to my mum?”

“I’d never make you,” Draco replied. “I was just thinking more for myself, but do you think your mum might tell you something she wouldn’t tell Dumbledore or the Aurors?”

“Maybe.”

Dagmar still hesitated toward it. She knew she should, and that it would probably go a long way in establishing some kind of rapport with Potter and the Order at large. After seeing Potter the previous Friday, he was clearly dedicated to getting to the bottom of all this. They worked toward a common goal.

“I’ll think about it,” Dagmar said. “At the very least, I wouldn’t want you to have to go alone. And if I was going to go that far, I might as well have a conversation with my mum.”

“Do you miss her at all?”

Dagmar ran her thumb over her coffee mug’s handle. “Sort of. I don’t know that I’ve really accepted anything just yet about what came of my mum and dad. I’d already gone so many years missing them and expecting something bad to happen that I didn’t really have anything to do but accept it when it finally _did_ happen.”

Draco nodded, gaze on the bay.

“There’s still a part of me that denies it all,” Dagmar said. “I still expect that we could go back to your manor or mine, and our parents will all be there doing their thing like nothing happened. Then when we go there and the houses are empty, I just feel like they could be home any minute.”

“Yeah.” Draco cleared his throat and scratched his nose with the back of his thumbnail. “It doesn’t feel right without them, but also not. . .yeah. It’s like they’ve all just gone on holiday.”

“I haven’t gotten closure yet.” Dagmar sipped her coffee. “I wonder if I might find it with Mum, but I also don’t know if I really want it. Ever since we got here, it’s just a little bit harder to feel like anything ever went wrong. We wound up exactly where we wanted to be, and our expectation was that we should be able to keep our distance while still having relationships with them.”

“Do you think it would help to spread some of your dad’s ashes?”

“Maybe.” Dagmar paused. “I wanted to meet up with Uncle Håkon first to see if they want to be involved at all. Dad wanted some of his ashes spread in Oslofjord, so it only makes sense they come along. We didn’t bother with a funeral or anything since I was away at school, but they might be interested in that too.”

“Would _you_ be?”

“I think so.” Dagmar hadn’t thought much about it. “I mean. . .he’s not coming back. Even if he’s been cremated already, his death is still sort of in limbo. His life deserves a celebration, even if there were parts of it that probably don’t.”

There were also parts of it Dagmar thought warranted recognition. Up until he joined the Death Eaters, her dad had been a good one. Dagmar missed that twinkle in his eye and his crushing hugs. While cleaning up the manor house, Dagmar had found his last, unfinished pouch of pipe tobacco. If she ever missed him enough, she’d open it for a quick whiff. Sometimes when she walked past the fireplace, where it was kept next to her dad’s ashes, she’d catch its scent without having to go out of her way.

“Maybe Mum will tell me where it all went wrong,” Dagmar said. “That’s the closure I need to put my dad to rest.”

Draco rubbed her shoulder. “She definitely owes it to you.”

“Ja.”

Dagmar set her coffee on the railing so that she could scoot her chair closer to Draco. She resettled with her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped loosely around the nearest of his. She managed to smile a little when he rested his head on hers in turn. He nuzzled her hair with his nose.

“Are you worried about seeing your father at all?” Dagmar asked.

“A little,” Draco admitted. “I’ve never really been good at standing up to him. It’ll be weird to visit him, even if I didn’t have a goal in mind. I’m not exactly sure what to expect.”

“I wish I could be any help, but that’s how I always felt about him,” Dagmar replied. “I never knew what to expect whenever I crossed his path last summer. He’s so hard to read.”

“I know.”

Dagmar turned her head to kiss Draco’s cheek. “Well, I’ll be there with you, if you have trouble with it.”

Draco managed a smile, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. His lips were a lot more certain than him when he closed the gap between them. Despite the situation and the topic at hand, Dagmar calmed with the contact.

They finished their drinks and headed back inside. Dagmar had left Potter’s note curled up on the kitchen island. Draco offered to wash Dagmar’s mug for her, so she went ahead into the office in order to pen their response: _Friday sometime? DSJ_

Draco rested his hands on Dagmar’s shoulders when he found her. He hummed in response to Dagmar’s question about whether or not Potter would recognize DSJ to stand for Den Sultne Jotunn.

“If he doesn’t, he has plenty of time before Friday to let us know,” Draco said. “If he gives us a time and then needs a clarification, it shouldn’t matter if anyone intercepts one of our owls. They won’t get all the information they need to find us there.”

The owl Potter had sent sat in the owlery for most of the day with its head under its wing. It was ready to go in the evening. Just as Dagmar expected, Potter came back with a time but didn’t recognize the inn name. Dagmar sent back the clarification. On Friday, she and Draco got ready to head down to Den Sultne Jotunn a little bit before ten o’clock. For even a rainy morning, the inn was busy. People created a steady stream in from the travel room. Any kids that arrived rushed to the fountain. Every time one put a coin in it, the miniature hafgufa would raise its head to acknowledge their nationality.

It had just tucked its head back under the water when Potter and Parasca appeared from the travel room. Dagmar suppressed the edge of amusement in her smile to see Potter in a suit. He already acted the part of Auror, he might as well look it too.

“Hallo,” Dagmar greeted them with a wave. “Nice to see you again, Professor.”

“You too.” Parasca smiled warmly at her. “Of course, it would’ve been better under different circumstances.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed with a shrug. “How’s Luca? We haven’t heard from him yet this summer.”

“Me neither.” Parasca chuckled. “His grandparents keep him pretty busy when he visits. I think he’s looking forward to getting back at the end of the month.”

“Shall we go?” Draco asked. “We figured we’d just head up to our place. That’s as private as it gets here.”

“Er, sure,” Potter replied.

Rather than go by floo, Dagmar just offered her wrist to Professor Parasca in the travel room, while Draco did the same for Potter. A moment later, they were all standing together inside the garden door. The rain came down in curtains, but didn’t obscure the city and bay enough for the view to be tarnished.

“Take a seat,” Draco invited them after they removed their shoes. “Tea?”

Both Potter and Parasca agreed. Since it was on the chillier side today, Draco had lit the fireplace. The heat from it had yet to permeate the entire cottage.

Dagmar sat on the love seat, across from Potter and Parasca as they settled on the couch. “So how’s the search going? Did you have any luck in Paris?”

“Not really.” Potter looked disappointed for that. “We talked to Marigot, but she didn’t recognize Norheim. In hindsight, I would’ve been surprised if she did. Norheim’s too good at hiding to be known to a Head Auror.”

“I guess so, hey?”

“She has a picture of him now, though.” Potter shrugged. “So we’ll see how that goes.”

“Any other leads?”

“Well, we’re thinking about going to Trondheim at some point to try and talk to Norheim’s sister. It depends if she gets back to us or not. She hasn’t yet, but Trondheim is a bit further north than here, isn’t it?”

“Mm. . .” Dagmar bunched her lips to one side. “Four-hundred miles or so. Not bad, as the owl flies.”

“I _hope_ she gets back to us,” Potter said.

Draco returned to the living room while he waited for the water to boil. Dagmar got up to make the tea, which left Draco a little owl-eyed since he needed to carry the conversation with Potter and Parasca. When Dagmar returned with a pot and four cups, Parasca was asking after what all Draco had to do to be accepted at Jotunheimen.

“I have a feeling it might be what Luca’s after,” Parasca said as Dagmar poured for them all. “He had a lot of fun with the firedrakes. He was disappointed they wouldn’t be able to stay, at least not Bal.”

“I might actually see Bal.” Draco accepted the steaming cup Dagmar passed him. “I don’t know when, but the firedrakes are supposed to pass through Jotunheimen before they go wherever they’ll wind up.”

“Think they made it up there already?” Potter asked.

“Dunno, I haven’t heard,” Draco replied. “I’ve been dying to go up to Jotunheimen and snoop around, but I’m letting the anticipation build for Monday.”

“Are you nervous at all?” Parasca lifted her tea to her lips.

“Maybe a little,” Draco admitted with a small smile. “I don’t really know what to expect, and I don’t know anybody there. I can get along just fine speaking Norwegian, but the culture and everything is still all new.”

“Do you get a mentor?” Potter replied. “I definitely found that helps make the transition easier.”

“I hope I do. I doubt they’d just toss me out in the middle of the reserve and tell me good luck, have fun, and don’t die.”

They all laughed, Potter cutting his short to accept his cup before Dagmar returned to her spot beside Draco. With them all set for drinks, the friendly atmosphere cooled in favour for one of business. Rather than sitting across from an old professor and classmate, Dagmar looked at a couple Aurors.

“So, did you have a chance to think over what we talked about last Friday?” Potter started them on it.

“Yeah, but probably not the way you expected us to,” Draco replied. “I couldn’t really come up with anything that might loosen my father’s tongue. Maybe it would help if I went to Azkaban and talked to him.”

Potter’s eyebrows popped up. “You would do that?”

“Well. . .yeah.” Draco shrugged. “I’ll do whatever I have to. You were right that my father or Dagmar’s mum talking could save a lot of legwork. What are you offering him in return?”

“Like a deal?”

Draco nodded. “You must have tried to sweeten the pot, right? Less time or something, if he plays a part in bringing the war to an end?”

Potter pressed his lips together. Dagmar wouldn’t think it was strange of him to look uncomfortable, except that Parasca did too. Dagmar’s heart sunk with tentative dread.

“There isn’t really anywhere for your dad to go,” Potter told Draco. “You realize what all he’s done for Voldemort, don’t you?”

Dagmar looked over at Draco when he didn’t respond. He just sat there with his tea cup braced in his hands. His left thumb slightly trembled.

“I guess I try not to think about it,” Draco quietly said.

“He doesn’t show any remorse either,” Potter replied. “Both Kingsley and Dumbledore said he was as arrogant as ever when they tried to talk to him. He doesn’t care he’s there. He thinks he’ll get out, like Bellatrix and all them did before. He got off for all those years after Voldemort disappeared by saying he was under the Imperius Curse. He doesn’t get a second go at that, and nobody would believe him anyway. The only hope he has left is that Voldemort will get him out. I don’t think he’s realized yet that it isn’t going to happen.”

“Sounds like even if he comes around, it won’t matter anyway,” Draco said. “If you won’t offer him anything, then why would he ever bother to talk?”

“A sense of integrity, maybe, or personal responsibility for everything he’s done.”

Potter and Parasca’s visit ended up much shorter than Dagmar expected. They were all saying stiff goodbyes in front of the fireplace when mention of arranging going to Azkaban made Dagmar remember the purchase she’d made in Trollmannsgaten. She nipped into the office and returned with half of a messenger pair.

She handed it to Potter. “Given the distance and need for codes, I figured this would be an easier way to get a hold of us. We’ll check ours periodically to see if you’ve written.”

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “Cheers.”

The cottage’s new silence after the emerald flames returned to their normal orange was a heavy one. Draco’s passive expression melted away in lieu of pressed lips and a slightly wrinkled brow. It didn’t much improve when Dagmar rubbed his back.

“I wonder what all my father did,” Draco said. “I purposely never looked at anything the papers said. Did _you_ ever?”

Dagmar shook her head. She’d heard enough whispers around Hogwarts to more than fill that particular gap in her knowledge. “I think my mum has killed people.”

“I guess it’s not much a stretch of the imagination for my father then, either.” Draco began gathering up the empty tea cups on the coffee table. “Well, now I think about it, he’s probably told me he did. What exactly did they say to us about when that first team tried to raid your manor last summer? My mum told me they were just cleaning things up, which I took to mean schmoozing around the Ministry. My father said something about neutralizing them. Do you remember that?”

“Er, maybe.” Dagmar packed the pot back into the kitchen. “I was more relieved my parents were there and not in Azkaban. I wasn’t really paying attention. I didn’t really ever _want_ to know that stuff, either.”

“Yeah.”

Dagmar poured out the tea dregs and bewitched a washcloth to finish the job for them. “Do you still think it’s a good idea to go to Azkaban?”

“Whether or not it is, I already volunteered.” Draco leaned against the counter. “I’m torn if I should go in there blind about my father’s situation. I should know what he’s being pinned for. If I make a point not to mention to Potter any he might not know about, am I doing something wrong? Does it matter, if my father is already spending life in there?”

Dagmar pressed her lips briefly. “I’m not sure. _Do_ you know of any unreported crimes?”

“Nothing except that raid team. I don’t think my father would’ve let me know about anything so that I couldn’t ever use it against him.”

“Or Dumbledore, Potter, or Kingsley couldn’t get it out of you.”

“Yeah.” Draco sighed on an exhale. “What about you? Do you know of any?”

Dagmar shook her head. “Same as you. Dumbledore said it was uncertain if my mum had killed anyone the night she got arrested. I never looked into it. Didn’t want to know.”

“Well.” Draco shrugged. “I guess if we manage to get anything out of them, it’ll more than make up for everything we couldn’t ever give before. I’m kind of hoping that’ll be it for a while, honestly. If we can get Potter moving on something, then we can just. . .go back to living our life here again.”

Dagmar invited herself into Draco’s arms and kissed him. “It’s all I care to do, honestly.”


	9. Orientation

Despite his excitement to finally get going with work, Draco’s nerves made themselves known periodically over the weekend. The nerves turned to anxiety come Sunday night, as both he and Dagmar tried to wind down at a reasonable time.

After tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, Draco sighing incited a snort from the other side of the bed.

“I thought you were asleep,” Draco whispered.

“Trying, but it’s not really panning out.”

Draco gravitated over to her, pushing the duvet down to his waist in the process. Dagmar was easy to convince into an embrace. What Draco intended as some snogging ended up with Dagmar’s knee hooked in Draco’s waist and a hand between her legs. Hot breath running down Draco’s neck and shoulder didn’t help that he’d already grown warm from his tossing, but it was a worthy sacrifice to him when Dagmar trembled and sighed. She pulled the air from Draco’s lungs in turn with a purposeful touch.

An orgasm helped both of them settle. The dim light of evening had transitioned into its morning mirror when Draco roused again.

Dagmar was up already. The room was humid from the shower having run, and Draco could smell the hair products she used. Dagmar emerged from the closet dressed as far as her blouse, which she buttoned up. Her hair was still up in a towel.

“Morning,” she greeted him with a trill of the R as she sat down on Draco’s side of the bed. She bent down for a quick kiss. “I was just going to wake you up.”

Draco had gotten used to bumming around in bed in the morning. It had certainly been a while since he last saw this hour by choice. He wanted a shower more for the pick-up than to actually get clean. The scent of sausages teased Draco’s nostrils while he dressed. Draco’s mouth was watering by the time he made it down to the kitchen.

A mug of tea already sat on the island, steam rising from it. Dagmar stood in front of the stove overseeing the sausages, eggs, and mushrooms. She’d also started reheating some of the batch of baked beans they’d made yesterday.

“Can I do anything?” Draco asked before taking a sip of his tea.

“Toast, if you don’t mind.”

“Could you get the oven going?”

“Mhm.”

Draco headed over to the cupboard where they kept their bread. While Draco did his best to cut off some even slices, arms slipped around his middle. Draco caught a whiff of Dagmar’s perfume before her lips touched his neck.

“You look so good today,” she told him.

“Thanks.” Draco ran a hand over her forearms. “You too.”

Dagmar had put her hair into a side-part, and then French-braided it back to where the rest of it created a spiral at the nape of her neck. Mascara and pencil brought out her eyes, although she was more modest with her lipstick. Draco hadn’t even thought she was wearing any until she turned conservative toward a snog. She ran her thumb over Draco’s bottom lip and around the edges of her mouth afterward.

“I hope I’m dressed appropriately,” Draco said as he kept on slicing bread after Dagmar returned to the stove. “It’s a reserve, not an office. I don’t know if I’m expected to hike around or anything.”

“Were you planning on wearing sensible shoes?” Dagmar asked. “It might not hurt to dress more for outside.”

Draco wanted to make a good first impression, and years of upper-class politesse had it drilled into him that that meant semi-formal attire and a neat appearance. He was having some doubts now. Dagmar told him to go back upstairs and reevaluate his side of the closet if he wanted to, and she would let him know when breakfast was ready.

Tea in hand, Draco returned to their room. He had plenty of clothes for more formal settings and a solid slew of items for around the house, but not a whole lot in-between. Draco settled for a long-sleeve shirt and vest, remembering nearly a year ago to the day when he and Dagmar went up to Jotunheimen for a visit. The reserve wasn’t exactly warm, being up in the mountains.

Draco’s hair mussed up in the process of changing. He decided he didn’t care, for he didn’t want to look _too_ much like a newcomer amongst everyone else. Dagmar didn’t seem to mind either, since she ran her fingers through it when he came back downstairs.

They were running a little short for time, so Draco ate fast. He didn’t get to finish his tea. His nerves swelled again as he and Dagmar stepped into their shoes and headed for the fireplace. They met up again in the travel room at Den Sultne Jotunn.

Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand. “Well, good luck.”

“You too.” Draco kissed her. “See you later.”

He stepped back into the fireplace and was on his way northeast to Jotunheimen. Draco stepped out when he saw the familiar cabin that he and Dagmar had visited last July. It wasn’t as busy as it had been back then. Tours didn’t start yet for another couple hours, according to the sign.

A middle-aged woman with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail hailed him with a wave over by the picture windows. “You must be one of the new apprentices?”

Draco nodded. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Ah.” The woman extended a hand when they came face-to-face, eyes alight. “Our British prodigy.”

Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he didn’t have a chance to acknowledge that before the woman carried on: “Gunvor Vignes, you can just call me Gunvor. I’m the warden here.”

“Right.” Draco recognized the name from the various letters he’d received. “Good to finally meet you.”

“You’re the first to arrive,” Gunvor told him needlessly. “There should be four more yet.”

Before Draco could worry about how to fill the empty air between them, the fireplace lit up green and someone else stepped out. He was tall and lanky, clearly Scandinavian by Draco’s reckoning. Gunvor greeted him as well. Draco caught the name Alexander. Alexander gravitated over to Draco when Gunvor mentioned his prior arrival.

“Alex,” he told Draco as they shook hands. “Where are you from? You didn’t go to Kapsferd.”

“Britain,” Draco replied. “I went to Hogwarts.”

Alex lit up, spine straightening. “So you must have known Harry Potter, then.”

Draco’s smile grew strained with humour. “I do.”

“Friend of yours?”

“We were classmates, but in different houses. I played against him in Quidditch, mostly.”

“Oh, what position?” Alex’s smile grew more yet. “I played too. Keeper.”

“Seeker.” Remembering to try for modesty, Draco tucked away his urge to mention his position as Captain, as well as how good Slytherin had played in its last season under his leadership. “Where are you from?”

“Copenhagen. Denmark,” Alex added as elaboration. “I just moved to Bergen last week. It’s a bit different here, isn’t it?”

“I guess, yeah.” Draco shrugged, unsure what else to say. “It’s different from Denmark?”

“Well, probably not as much of a change as you’re going through right now. I moved here with my sister. You?”

“My girlfriend is Norwegian, although she grew up in Britain as well.”

“I might know some of her family. What’s her surname?”

Draco hesitated to answer, but was spared by it anyway as another newcomer joined them. That she was blonde and had blue eyes made Draco assume she also attended Kapsferd, but she had an accent somewhat like Luca’s and introduced herself as Masha Petrova. She wasn’t very sure about her Norwegian, which made Draco think she may have started learning it later than he did. After her came another girl. This one knew Alex from Kapsferd and was named Hanna. The last one was an American boy, Leo. He was on about the same level as Masha language-wise, but much more confident about it.

“Right, well, this is all of you,” Gunvor told them. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you to the back.”

She led them past the Staff Only Beyond this Point sign. Draco had heard a murmur coming from back here, but didn’t connect it with the other dragonologists on-site. He figured that, like last year, they would’ve been out and about. A small group of them sat at a table with coffees in hand. They all went quiet when Gunvor led Draco and the others through, sizing them up. None of them said anything.

Draco carried through with the other apprentices to Gunvor’s office, which had a view of the hill where Hyperion had slept during Draco’s tour last July. He searched the landscape for the dragon, but Hyperion had evidently found somewhere else to snooze this morning. Since it was raining, maybe he’d just taken cover.

“I have some paperwork to start you all off with,” Gunvor told them, handing them each a small stack of parchment. “I don’t need it until the third, but we’ll go over it now, just to spare you any potential confusion.”

Draco read along with everyone else as they went through the basic information, tax forms, and various disclaimers. Draco glanced at his coworkers to see what they thought about the warning that their positions put them at high risk of severe injury and potential death. The reserve would do everything in its power to ensure they were prepared to carry out the full extent of their job responsibilities, but they carried no liability as an entity. Draco locked eyes with Alex, who had developed a wrinkle across his forehead. Masha’s hands shook slightly. Hanna scratched her face with the back of her thumbnail. Leo shifted his weight from one hip to the other.

“It’ll be a while until you actually come into contact with the dragons on your own,” Gunvor reassured them all with a warm smile. “You’ll also each be assigned a mentor from amongst our seasoned dragonologists. You’ll tag along with them during their regular shifts for the next year. Let’s go back out to the staff room, and I’ll get you all properly acquainted.”

The same group from earlier was still there. Their conversation came to another halt as Gunvor approached. There were three men and two women.

“Lars, Draco is all yours,” Gunvor started them off with.

Draco scanned the small group to try and figure out which one was Lars. The biggest one of them, a tall and barrel-chested blond with a tattoo of what looked like a raven on his temple, sat up straighter. Draco wasn’t completely sure about the wolfish nod and grin he got from him. His nerves resurfaced.

The other four apprentices were paired up with theirs. As Lars came up to Draco, Draco’s neck bent backwards to maintain eye contact. His hand felt like a child’s in Lars’ as they shook, and all of Draco’s arm moved with the force of it.

“Call me Lars if you want, but only Gunvor really does,” Lars told him. “Everyone else calls me Big Swede.”

“Oh, really?” Draco replied. “Why?”

His deadpan response lit Lars—Big Swede—up in a laugh that almost startled Draco. It sounded like a hyena. Although it similarly jarred the other newcomers, none of the dragonologists spared hardly a glance.

“Funny kid,” Big Swede said. “I’m gonna like you. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Draco fell in step beside him. Big Swede was at least six and a half feet tall, given that Draco was only about eye level with his shoulders.

“First things first.” Big Swede led Draco into the adjacent room. “Lockers are here. Your name will be on one. Your gear should be in it, but you won’t need it today.”

“Gear like what?” Draco asked as he searched for his name.

“Your armour, basically.” Big Swede pat his chest. Because he wore a cloak over it, Draco hadn’t noticed the worn, dark brown leather underneath. “Consider yourself lucky. You five got the first cuts of skin off Hyperion.”

“Hyperion?” Draco stopped and looked back at him. “He died?”

“Knew him, did you?” Big Swede’s easy grin grew strained. “Ja, pretty sad to see a dragon like that one go. Died in his sleep back in April.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Circle of life and all that. Still, he was definitely my favourite. Been here since I started, of course.” Big Swede chuckled. “Only dragon I didn’t think might roast me if I turned my back at the wrong second. He’d gone on so long in human company with no negative experiences he was essentially tame. He just didn’t give a shit.”

“That was the impression I got.” Draco kept on looking for his name. “I saw him a year ago when I came up here for a tour. He was a lot different than the dragons they brought to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament back in my fourth year. Er—autumn of ‘94.”

“I remember that.  Cǎlimani asked for some extra hands so that their dragonologists back in Romania wouldn’t be left strapped for lack of help. Lots of fun, that was.”

“You were there?”

“Knew there was a point to learning English.” Big Swede laughed again. “Found me a kindred spirit in that gamekeeper of yours. Big fella, what was his name now. . .”

“That’d be Hagrid.” Draco found his locker. Inside was a set of armour similar to Big Swede’s, although it looked stiff and new. Draco pulled out the breast piece just to get a closer look.

“You can put it on if you like. Try it out,” Big Swede told him. “It should fit over your regular clothes, although you might have to ditch the vest.”

“‘Kay.”

“Hagrid, I liked him.” A fond smile warmed Big Swede’s small, blue eyes. “Drank me under the table, and that’s saying something.”

Draco laughed. “He taught Care of Magical Creatures. Managed to bring in a slew of firedrakes last year, although I suppose you know that already since they’re coming here. That’s what Hagrid said. Have they made it yet?”

“Nej.” Big Swede grinned. “That’s gonna be your first job here. We’ll all be flying to Hogwarts to pick them up, first week of August.”

“Cool.”

“What do you fly?”

“A Firebolt.”

“Good.” Big Swede nodded. “So long as everyone does, it shouldn’t take us more than a couple days. The return trip is what’s going to be interesting. Don’t much think the firedrakes would care to be dropped into the North Sea. Recovering them might be a bitch if we do.”

Big Swede said that so casually that Draco wasn’t completely sure how to respond other than agree. He focused instead on donning his armour. It wasn’t really too much different than his old Quidditch stuff. Draco doubted leather would spare him a singe, but at least he might not be disemboweled if a dragon took a swipe at him.

“Fits all right?” Big Swede asked when Draco was done. “It should all be adjustable. Might just have to play with it.”

“I think it’s good.”

* * *

Dagmar stepped out of the fireplace into Olaf Kyrre Memorial Hospital’s foyer. A long fountain ran down its centre. The gentle sound of trickling water helped somewhat to ease Dagmar’s anxiety.

She approached reception. “Good morning, I’m here for the Healer apprenticeship.”

The woman working there pointed toward a small group that looked about Dagmar’s age. “That’s them over there. Arne, the redhead, is your dean.”

Dagmar thanked her and headed over to where Arne stood with four others. They all looked Scandinavian. One of the two men amongst them noticed Dagmar first. He studied her as she approached. Arne himself was the first one to extend his hand.

“You must be Dagmar,” he greeted her.

Dagmar suppressed a cringe out of habit when he pronounced her name as it was spelled. She corrected him, “Dow-mar, actually.”

“Oh, sorry!” He lightly laughed. “I didn’t expect the Danish pronunciation.”

“Ja.” Dagmar smiled. “My mum and dad must have preferred it.”

“Indeed.” Arne turned so that the other four apprentice healers could be included in the conversation. “Let me introduce you. Leif, Åke, Frida, and Tora.”

“Charmed,” Dagmar said as she shook all their hands in turn.

Dagmar had looked forward to a more international group so that she wouldn’t be the only real newcomer. After sitting mostly on the outside amongst her peers at Hogwarts, Dagmar couldn’t say she was excited about having to work her way in all over again.

For now, Dagmar wasn’t too worried about it. Just because Leif, Åke, Frida, and Tora were all acquainted didn’t mean it put them ahead of Dagmar as far as the hospital went. They seemed equally fresh during the tour, and maybe even a little curious as to why Dagmar got a small wave in acknowledgement when they passed by Ingrid. She was in conversation with another Healer in a corridor.

Their tour ended in Arne’s office. Dagmar’s gaze stuck out the window, for she could actually see where her and Draco’s cottage would be from there. The hospital was across the bay and slightly further north, nestled in the woods on Florvågøyna.

“Now, I’m sure you were all ecstatic to be finished your studies at Kapsferd—or Hogwarts,” Arne said with a nod at Dagmar, “but you still have two more years of schooling with us before you’ll have earned your Healer certificates. The way the program is structured is that you have your theory lessons in the morning, and then practical work in the afternoons. That won’t amount to much more than just tagging along with your preceptors for now and observing what they do. You’ll gradually become more involved with your patients.

“I have some paperwork for you all to complete.” Arne picked up a handful of stacks of parchment. “Some I ask to be sent to me by Monday—that’s marked separately—but the tax and personal information ones can wait until the third to be turned in. There is also a book list here for what you’ll need for the program.”

Dagmar accepted her package and started flipping through. She stopped when Arne led them on again out of his office. Ingrid was there along with four other Healers. Her grin was contagious, although Dagmar suppressed hers slightly. If these were their preceptors, she put two-and-two quickly together.

Sure enough, Ingrid came over to Dagmar when Arne started pairing them up. She pulled Dagmar into a brief hug. “Herregud, I was _dying_ to tell you, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. I didn’t think they’d let me have you since we know each other, but everyone usually ends up friendly with their preceptors anyway.”

“I bet.”

“Of course, I had an ulterior motive.” Ingrid winked in jest. “One year of guaranteed day shift. Brilliant.”

Dagmar laughed and then cut it short. “Oof, I’m not sure I’m looking forward to nights.”

“They have their perks.” Ingrid shrugged. “It’s when the schedule changes you’re left a little messed up. You won’t be doing nights anyway until you get your certificate, unless you volunteer for them.”

Their preceptors didn’t get to stick around for long because they had work to get back to. Dagmar wouldn’t have minded starting her tag-along relationship with Ingrid right away, but Arne had arranged for the five trainees to have lunch together so that they could get better acquainted. They all sat down at a table in the cafeteria. Dagmar had heard all the jokes about hospital food, but hers didn’t look bad at all. The salad seemed fresh, and the salmon moist.

“So you went to Hogwarts, Arne mentioned?” Frida pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “What was that like? Dumbledore is pretty well-known.”

“I liked it there,” Dagmar replied. “Dumbledore was a very good headmaster.”

Åke leaned in. “You must have known Harry Potter too, right?”

“I did,” Dagmar confirmed. “He was all right.”

“You were friends?”

Dagmar hummed. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Acquaintances. We sort of still are.”

While the four of them sized her up anew, Dagmar did so them in turn.

“I’ll be forthcoming,” she said. “I think it was in the news here back in spring about that Norwegian pair of Death Eaters in Britain. Those were my parents. My dad died, and my mum went to prison. I don’t agree with anything they did, even if it seems like Voldemort was either blackmailing or forcing them into service. Potter got on as an Auror back in London, and he’s investigating something related to what they were all working on together. My boyfriend and I are helping him however we can.”

Leif blinked. “So you’re a Ramstad.”

Dagmar nodded.

“I knew your cousin at Kapsferd,” he replied. “Påske. We shared a dorm. That was hard for him. Lots of cold shoulders after that, even if he said he hadn’t seen his uncle Erik in like a decade. Hardly even remembered him.”

“Ja.” Dagmar’s stomach curdled with guilt. “There are a lot of students at Hogwarts that are missing family because of Voldemort. I’m lucky nobody ever really spoke to me after it all came out, but I could feel their resentment. Not that I can really compare my suffering to theirs.”

“What was it like having Death Eaters for parents?” Tora asked, brown eyes wide with mingled curiosity and alarm. “Did you ever—you know—see him?”

Voldemort’s white, skull-like face appeared in Dagmar’s mind.

“Nei,” Dagmar lied. “My parents did their best to make sure I didn’t fall into that. I came of-age last summer and cut as much contact as I could get away with. My boyfriend and I planned to move up here anyway to get away from it all, since his father was involved as well. It’s good to be home.”

Dagmar didn’t expect that sentiment to turn her eyes heavy, but thankfully there were no tears there. Even if there were, the other four smiled at her. Dagmar was relieved her honesty hadn’t been met with disdain.

The conversation carried away from that. Dagmar had lots of questions about what Kapsferd was like, and Leif, Åke, Frida, and Tora had seven years worth of stories to share. They were interested about her experience at Hogwarts, particularly as a classmate of Harry Potter’s, but Dagmar didn’t personally have much to share in that regard. The events she could speak mostly to were the Chamber of Secrets being opened, the dementors being around, the Triwizard Tournament, and the horrendous experience of trying to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts under Professor Umbridge.

“I heard afterward that Potter had some kind of secret Defence class.” Dagmar pursed her lips briefly. “Pity I wasn’t invited, but Umbridge was using members of my house to keep an eye on the other students. I suppose they didn’t want to risk involving a Slytherin.”

“The house system sounds kind of fun,” Tora said. “I think I would’ve liked it better than how we all ended up splitting off at Kapsferd. For at least the primary years, all the Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians kind of keep to themselves because of the language divide. Once all that starts melting together, it’s different. I started noticing the change in secondary years. By tertiary, it’s a non-issue.”

“So where are you all from originally?” Dagmar asked.

“Stavanger for me,” Tora replied.

“Stockholm,” Åke said.

“Malmö.” When Leif said that, the last syllable sounded like a potato stuck in his throat.

“Copenhagen,” Frida said. “My twin Alex and I got a flat here together. We’ll see how long until we’re tired of each other.”

They all laughed. By the time lunch wrapped up, Dagmar was feeling really good about their little group. The four of them had been standoffish to start, and it wasn’t until they all bid their goodbyes that Dagmar remembered that social trait was a product of her own culture.

Dagmar hoped Draco was doing all right with that. She made it home hoping to ask, but the cottage was still quiet and empty when she apparated across the bay. The fireplace had turned the cottage cozy in her absence. Dagmar went upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes before making a place for herself on the love seat. She grabbed the throw Draco had left on the couch from a kip the previous afternoon.

As soon as Dagmar settled, she spotted movement out the corner of her eye. Heimdall stood at the kitchen door, yellow eyes wide in urgency as he stared at her. The glass muffled his meow. Dagmar got up to let him in. She got comfortable again with Arne’s papers while Heimdall gravitated to the rug in front of the fireplace to warm up and dry off.

Had Dagmar not just stood up, she would’ve done so again to fetch some ink and a quill from the office. For now, she was content just to read through. Dagmar’s brow furrowed as she went over the first sheet. It shouldn’t be so quickly that she ran into issues with it. At the top of the page was a request toward complete truthfulness and accuracy. What was Dagmar supposed to put for Place of Birth? Her lips pulled toward a bunch on one side as Dagmar kept looking at the questions. Another one that caused her pause was Spoken/Known Languages. Was it relevant to tell the hospital that she was a Parselmouth? Maybe they only wanted to know so that patients who spoke languages other than Norwegian could receive care from someone with a common tongue. Or, considering that Parseltongue bore a weighty taboo, it might raise a couple eyebrows.

Deciding not to think about that at the moment, Dagmar carried on. The tax forms and repeated request for qualifying grades from her education were unremarkable, but Dagmar’s stomach knotted again as she came to the section Arne had requested be returned to him Monday:

**_Fitness to Practice Module_ **

_Standards for healthcare provided by hospitals within the magical community of Norway are set and perpetuated by the Department of Magical Welfare. Patients must be able to trust Healers with their lives and health._

_The standards of a Healer are as follows:   
_ _\- the care of patients is top priority;  
_ _\- the general health of patients and the public at large is protected and promoted;   
_ _\- provide a high standard of practice and care by keeping knowledge up to date, recognizing and working within the limits of your competence, and cooperating with colleagues for the benefit of patients;   
_ _\- treat patients as individuals;  
_ _\- respect patients’ dignity and confidentiality;  
_ _\- work in partnership with patients by listening to and addressing their concerns, keeping them informed on the status of their health in ways they understand, and respecting their right to make decisions in their treatment and care;  
_ _\- and act with integrity and honesty by not discriminating against patients or colleagues, acting without delay if you believe a colleague may be putting a patient at risk, and not abusing the patient’s trust in you or the public’s trust in the profession._

_You are personally accountable for your professional practice and must always be prepared to justify your decisions and actions. The scope of your responsibilities in relation to human life imply a higher standard of expectations prior to your admittance to Healer apprenticeship. Through this module, you will be given the opportunity to disclose all previous behaviours that may present a risk to clear decision-making in the future._

_Areas of concern are as follows. . ._

Dagmar had already declared her run-in at the French Ministry when she first applied. As she read through the list of unacceptable conduct, Dagmar’s gaze stuck on aggressive behaviour. The first two examples were assault and physical violence.

Her stomach sunk. Dagmar had been honest with Olaf Kyrre up as far as submitting her application in December, but things had changed since then. She hadn’t ever told anybody about what happened with Pansy after Heimdall briefly vanished, not even Draco. In fact, she’d forgotten all about it after her dad died. Between that, the NEWTs coming fast and hard, and concern that Dagmar and Draco get on with Olaf Kyrre and Jotunheimen, Dagmar hadn’t been able to think about much else at all.

Low-level panic compelled Dagmar to close up the Fitness to Practice section of her package and find something else to do that might take her mind off it. She’d wanted over the weekend to try her hand at baking bread. Having to focus on learning something new helped a little bit, although Dagmar still found space to think while she kneaded the dough and then waited for it to rise. She was sitting at the kitchen island reading the Bergen Seer newspaper with a cup of coffee when the fireplace whooshed.

Dagmar stood to see around the wall, then smiled despite her lingering anxiety. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.” Draco kicked off his shoes and came into the kitchen. With an arm around Dagmar’s shoulders, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “How’d it go?”

“It was good.” Dagmar could answer that honestly for now, since her concern hadn’t arisen until after she came home. “There’s five of us in the program. Guess what I’m going right back to?”

“Er. . .” Draco stalled as he opened the ice box.

“School,” Dagmar said. “I have classes to sit in the morning, and then I get to tag along with Ingrid for the afternoons.”

“That should be all right then, yeah?” Draco started bringing out fixings for a sandwich. “It’s not like going to lessons will be an adjustment. Approximately how many hundreds of feet do you think we wrote last year in essays?”

“Anywhere between two to four hundred.” Dagmar’s smile softened, endeared by Draco’s good mood. “What was _your_ day like?”

“No mention of lessons, so there’s that,” Draco said. “Big Swede told me today to bail if a dragon looks like it’s gearing up to breathe fire, so I probably got the essentials down.”

Dagmar laughed. “Who or what is Big Swede?”

“My mentor.” Draco stood up straight and held his hand flat as high up as he could reach. “About this tall, tattoos everywhere.”

“Sounds almost intimidating.”

“Nah, think more like Hagrid. They know each other, hey? Oh.” Draco’s eyes lit up. “Guess where I’m going in a few weeks?”

“Hogwarts.”

Draco deflated from the speed of her correct guess.

“You mentioned Hagrid.” Dagmar apologized for stealing his news with a shrug. “First thing that came to mind. For the firedrakes, or. . .?”

“Yeah, we’re going to fly.” Draco closed the ice box and pushed his fixings closer to where Dagmar sat. “It’s going to be tricky. There’re eleven of us going, three each to two cages, and two for the last one. I’m going to meet up with Alex, Leo, Masha, and Hanna sometime this week or next week to go for a fly so we can size up where we’re all at with that. We all played Quidditch and ride Firebolts, so it’ll be more a matter of coordination rather than skill.”

Since Draco had both hands in use while he sliced more bread for himself, Dagmar held off on reaching out. Instead, she held her jaw in hand and leaned on the island top as she admired him.

“They all live down in the city, so I thought maybe we could set off from here.” Draco carried on. “Would that be all right with you?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“‘Kay.”

As Draco went on about what he’d seen and done today, Dagmar internally questioned if she dared ruin his good mood with everything that was on her mind. It had to be addressed, and she didn’t want to put it off any longer since it might already seem as if she’d hidden it from him.

Draco suggested they move from the kitchen to the living room to sit next to the fire. The rain had ramped up outside along with the wind, pushing it against the windows in spatters. Dagmar ended up igniting a couple torches to go along with the fire’s light. When Draco made to sit, he took a long gaze at the pile of parchment Dagmar left on the coffee table from earlier.

“Yours is thicker than mine,” he commented. “Did they already give you an assignment or something? Or just some reading?”

“Bit of both in a way.” Dagmar pulled the throw over her legs before setting her plate on her lap. “I actually needed to talk to you about some stuff in it.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s some minor things that I’m not quite sure how to answer,” Dagmar started, “like the personal information bits. It asks where I was born, but I’m not sure what to put if I don’t know—”

“Just that?” Draco suggested with a shrug. “If you’re honest, you don’t. You could always talk to your program leader or whatever about it later. Tell them you’re working on it. Would it be a big deal, do you think?”

“Nei, but it’s a minor concern.” Dagmar tried to move them along. “Most of this is basically like an evaluation to figure out how fit I am to be a Healer. They want us to declare anything we’ve ever done in the past that might compromise our ability to provide care. You know, bad judgements and all that—”

“You already told them about what happened in Nice, though.”

Annoyance twinged in Dagmar’s stomach as her smile turned wooden. “Can I speak?”

“Er, yeah, go ahead. Sorry.”

Draco filled his mouth with food, turning Dagmar’s fleeting irritation back into endearment. She reached over to squeeze his thigh. “I appreciate the enthusiasm. I just need you to listen to me for a minute. Something happened in February that I honestly completely forgot about after everything with our parents happened. Nothing ever came of it, so it felt kind of inconsequential. . .until now.”

Brow furrowed, Draco swallowed. “What did you do?”

That he sounded nervous incited the same feeling in Dagmar. Out of everyone in the world, she believed Draco would understand best. It still scared her that, on top of everything else she’d told him, it might start pushing into territory where the sum of it all was too much.

“I found out who put Heimr in that cabinet,” Dagmar said. “It was Pansy.”

Draco stared at Dagmar before his gaze shifted over to where Heimdall laid curled up in front of the fireplace. What remained of Draco’s earlier excitement bled away.

“What did you do to her?” Draco altered his previous question.

“Well, I’ll just tell you the whole story because it all happened over the course of a couple months.” Dagmar forced the tension out of her shoulders. “The first weekend after Christmas holidays ended, Heimr was well enough for me to keep him overnight in the dorm. Hagrid just told me to feed him right before bed and when I woke up, and then bring him down to his cabin the next morning to get checked on. Me, Daphne, and Milly were bumming around, and then Pansy came in. We all kind of had a fight—I think she was trying to make nice. . .” Dagmar paused to think, eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We all went to bed, and I’d noticed that Heimr burrowed under my blanket when Pansy came in. I tried to convince him out. He was shaking, absolutely terrified.”

Draco sat up straighter, blinking rapidly a few times. Dagmar had only paused to gather her thoughts and make sure her memory was straight, but his reaction caused her further hesitation.

“Can I just say something?” Draco asked, to which Dagmar nodded. “I had some suspicions the night he was found that something might be up. I had no idea how Heimr could’ve gotten in that cabinet by himself. I just wrote it all off because I was happy he was back. I also didn’t want to upset you with the idea someone put him in there. I didn’t say anything.”

“Did you suspect her?”

Draco shook his head. “I didn’t suspect anybody. I didn’t know who would do that, or why.”

“Sitting here now, I’m remembering the conversations we had last summer about what Pansy might do to me when she found out we were together.” Dagmar’s heart squeezed as she watched Heimdall’s body rise and fall with his sleep. “I wish it was me she did it to, now.”

“Do you remember back in fifth year, Montague disappeared for a while?” Draco asked.

Dagmar nodded.

“The Weasley twins had shoved him into that cabinet. He just about died,” Draco replied. “The only way he could escape was to apparate. Whatever gets put in that cabinet just vanishes. I wonder if Pansy knew what might happen.”

“She didn’t,” Dagmar said. “She said she went back to let him out. But—hold on, that happened later. Let me backtrack.”

“Right.” Draco pulled off a shred of ham poking out the side of his sandwich and set it on his plate.

“I didn’t want to confront Pansy,” Dagmar kept on with her story. “I had nothing to go on except for how Heimr acted and then being worried before that she might do something. I didn’t think there was a point in going to Snape about it. I’d talked to him here and there over the years about how me and Pansy got along, and it never amounted to anything. I took it into my own hands. Do you remember that troll head in a jar you bought me on my birthday?”

“Mhm.”

“It was being kept small like that in a deactivated Shrinking Potion,” Dagmar said. “I figured that if I put some of it into my Alltid-Varmt container, it would reactivate. It took a couple weeks, but it worked. Once it was ready, I poured it over her when she was sleeping. It wasn’t very strong, just gave her some headaches for a few weeks. It was more potent than I expected, though. I crossed paths with her in the dorm one night when she was laying in bed not feeling well. I felt bad, so I gave her some antidote. Said it was just a headache cure that I knew, and she was desperate to try anything at that point.

“I sat with her for a minute afterward.” Dagmar scratched the side of her neck. “She got really upset. She didn’t think she deserved my help, because she thought the headaches came from a heavy conscience. She told me what she did. She said she felt bad later and went back, but Heimr was gone. She thought someone else let him out.”

“You didn’t think it was worth going to Snape then?” Draco asked. “That would’ve. . .she could’ve really had it bad for that. Hurting another student’s animal, especially with how she already treated you since first year?”

“I chose to handle it instead.” Growing uncomfortable again, Dagmar idly pinched pieces of bread off her sandwich. “After she told me, I used the Heafonfýr Curse on her. Not like I did in Nice on that Muggle—differently. I don’t really know how to explain it. I touched her and pushed all that into her. She couldn’t move or breathe.”

Draco stayed quiet.

“Obviously I didn’t let it go any further than that,” Dagmar broke the pregnant silence between them. “I pulled it all back. She wasn’t hurt, just rattled. I told her she was best to leave me alone and not let us reach that point again. She listened, so. . .”

Dagmar shrugged and chanced a glance at Draco to see what he might be thinking. He wasn’t looking at her, but Heimdall. The corners of Draco’s mouth were slightly pulled down. He put his plate and unfinished sandwich on the coffee table and headed over to the rug. Heimdall made a discontented sound in his throat when Draco picked him up. Although he wasn’t happy with it, Heimdall tolerated Draco cradling him. Draco returned to the couch.

“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Draco said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Dagmar replied. “It was between me and her. I guess I wanted it to be her word against mine if she told anyone about it. If you didn’t know anything about it, you couldn’t get involved. Then. . .well, like I said, I forgot all about it after everything with our parents. Pansy kept it to herself too, as far as I can tell. Nothing ever came of it. I felt like she understood it was what seven years of torment had led to. She felt guilty about Heimr, so maybe she figured she deserved it.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

Heimdall struggled a little, although settled when Draco fed him the piece of ham from his plate. Since Draco didn’t seem perturbed by Dagmar’s actions, or angry that she’d kept it from him however unintentionally, Dagmar moved over to his side of the couch and leaned against his side. She scratched Heimdall’s head.

“All that said. . .” Draco spoke. “Do you really think you have to tell the hospital? Nothing ever came of it. Nobody but you, me, and Pansy know.”

“For how long, though?” Dagmar asked. “How long until Pansy thinks about it again and realizes that this is something that could have my Healer license taken away? Even if she can’t prove it. . .I don’t know, I just feel like I should do the right thing. I told everyone in my program over lunch who my parents were and all that, and they seemed to appreciate that I was forthcoming.”

“This is a bit different,” Draco said. “Do you really want to risk your entire career on a maybe? I know you well enough to look at the situation and think yeah, that was honestly probably an appropriate response. The hospital is putting you in charge of people’s care. They might look at it differently.”

“I don’t know.” Dagmar sighed. “I would kind of rather know now if I’m not the right fit than have that lingering over my head for the rest of my life. I don’t want Pansy to have that kind of power.”

“Could it disqualify you? What do your papers say?”

Dagmar grabbed the parchment package along with her sandwich. Heimdall eyed the latter. Dagmar mindlessly pulled away some ham for him, which he ate greedily on Draco’s lap.

After the Areas of Concern list Dagmar had read earlier, there was a full page dedicated to how the hospital would handle any concerns. The hospital wouldn’t immediately cut her out of the program, but it did warn that egregious behaviour or judgement would warrant an investigation. Dagmar grew nervous again, even though she believed coming clean was the right thing to do.

Rather than begin to fill out her form, Dagmar elected to write Arne:

_Arne,_

_Thank you again for the tour of the hospital today. It was a pleasure to finally meet you and the other program entrants._

_I’m looking over the forms you sent me home with, and I have some questions/concerns. Would it be possible to meet and discuss them? My schedule is wide open, so we could do so whenever it’s convenient for you._

_Thank you,  
_ _Dagmar_

“I hope it’s not bothering him,” Dagmar said when Draco found her tying it to Teeko’s leg in the owlery. “I don’t want to be _that_ student, you know, the one that needs special requirements and extra help and stuff.”

“Or he might think you’re being proactive.” Draco leaned against the office door frame, arms folded. “Once you get going with the program, you won’t need any help at all. You’re brilliant, and you don’t need anyone to motivate you. You’re raising concerns just like they asked you to.”

“Ja.” Dagmar relaxed a little bit.

“The thing with Pansy aside,” Draco said, “are you going to tell him other things?”

Dagmar ushered Teeko out the window. “Like what?”

“He probably already knows your parents are Death Eaters,” Draco replied. “What about Grim? Or meeting You-Know-Who in that graveyard?”

“I might as well, I guess.” Dagmar approached where he stood. “The forms also ask for known languages. I considered putting down Parseltongue.”

Draco ran a hand down Dagmar’s arm as her nerves turned her quiet again.

“I just don’t know that it’s all adding up to something good,” Dagmar said. “Daughter of two Death Eaters, one that’s dead and the other one is in Azkaban. Parselmouth. Attacked a Muggle. Attacked a classmate. Killed a cat. It sounds horrible, laid out like that.”

“There’s nuance.”

“Maybe.” Dagmar pressed her lips briefly. “I guess they can’t hold against me who my parents were, if I don’t share their beliefs. Everything but being a Parselmouth can be explained.”

“Well, even _that_ doesn’t have to be inherently bad.”

Dagmar invited herself into Draco’s arms. While she felt uncertain about her future at the hospital, Dagmar wasn’t as upset as she expected to be.

“Do you remember back shortly after everything happened with our parents, we were talking up in the owlery?” Dagmar asked. “I think we were sending letters to Mrs. Keene and Mr. Clayton.”

“Erm. . .”

“I told you I could give up anything for a while, but that I could never give up you.” Dagmar pulled away enough to meet his gaze. “I won’t lie, I’ll be devastated if Arne decides he wants me as far away from his hospital as possible. I don’t feel like it’d be the end of the world though, so long as you don’t think the same.”

Draco smiled. “Nah.”

Dagmar’s heart picked up as she pressed Draco back against the wall with the weight of her body. She kissed him as tenderly as she knew how, enamoured all over again and very aware today just how lucky she was to have such a supportive and understanding partner.

“I love you,” Draco told Dagmar, making her stomach flutter anew. “ _All_ of you.”

Dagmar ran her thumb over his jaw. “Herregud, you’re going to make a good husband.”

Pink patches appeared on Draco’s cheeks, pulling with them a flattered grin. He held Dagmar against him, and Dagmar could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“It’s time to start thinking like that,” Draco said after a moment. “Not that it’s necessarily a new thing.”

“I know.” Dagmar understood what he was trying to say.

“Can I ask you something, though?”

“Of course.”

“Sort of going off what you told me today about Pansy. . .” Draco glanced away briefly. “I’m not mad you hid it from me. I get it. We had a lot going on too. I’m giving the benefit of the doubt on that because I trust you. That said, is there anything else like that? Anything you haven’t told me?”

Dagmar hummed. “Nothing comes to mind at the moment, but I’ll think about it. If there is, it won’t be anything heavy like that. It’ll be silly things like—oh, here’s something I told Blaise when he came out to me, that I don’t think I ever mentioned. Blaise said part of the reason he never told me he was gay was because he thought I was too, and that it was just generally irrelevant. Now obviously I’m not, but I did have one of those silly kid crushes on a girl once. Ingrid.”

Draco snorted.

“I don’t know what it was, really, if I just thought she was cool and I wanted to be like her, or. . .” Dagmar trailed off with a realization. “Well, I guess we _are_ working together now, living in the same city, you and I are living in her old house. . .”

Draco laughed. “To be fair too, you were quite excited at the prospect of shagging me when we tested the Polyjuice.”

“I’m always excited about shagging you.” Dagmar nudged Draco back into the cottage. “I don’t know, doing that didn’t really feel anymore preferential over anything we normally do. All that mattered to me was that it was with you.”

Draco followed Dagmar back toward the kitchen. “So it wouldn’t matter if I was a woman, basically?”

“I guess?” Dagmar checked her bread dough, seeing as it had risen enough already to start pushing up against the towel she’d laid over the bowl. “I had fun trying out being with a woman when the opportunity presented itself, but it wasn’t like it caused a huge shift or big realization for my life or anything.”

“I felt pretty malleable in the situation too,” Draco admitted as he took a seat at the island. “I definitely did not think going in I’d want to suck a willy. It was different, when it was you.”

“It all made for a good story.” Dagmar consulted the bread recipe she’d followed to see about how hot to set the oven. “Do you want rolls or loaves?”


	10. Azkaban

Teeko returned from the hospital with a letter for Dagmar later in the afternoon. Arne’s suggestion was to fill out the form to the best of her ability and mail it to him Monday, as requested. He intended to set up individual meetings with everyone later in the week to go over them. Given that Dagmar had concerns, Arne appreciated the heads up to pay extra attention to hers.

Dagmar set off on the task. Her nerves that putting herself on paper like this might undo all the work she did to get here alternated with a strange calm. It was cathartic to confess all her wrongdoings and be judged by an impartial party.

It was all more than Dagmar could write in one go. She took a decent break Tuesday to do some shopping in Trollmannsgaten with Draco. He wanted to buy cloaks big enough to fit over his armour. Dagmar dipped into a bookstore as well, to buy all her textbooks for the first term. She hoped that wasn’t too presumptuous of a move before meeting with Arne.

The weather cooperated toward something fit for flying after the week’s ugly start, so Draco wrote all his new coworkers to see when they might like to get together. Draco came out of the office with a messenger in hand.

“Potter’s asking about Azkaban,” Draco told Dagmar. “He wants to know if Monday works.”

“I don’t see why not,” Dagmar said after a moment of thought. “The only thing I have to do is send all this off to Arne. I could do it before we leave. What time is he thinking?”

“I’ll ask.”

Draco nipped back to the office for a quill of his own and dipped it into Dagmar’s ink. After responding to Potter, Draco laid on the couch next to Dagmar. He left the messenger open on the coffee table when an owl returned from one of the other dragonologists. Draco tended to that and had time to fix them both lunch before words had appeared in the messenger.

“Wants to leave early,” Draco relayed to Dagmar. “The Auror office opens to the public at eight. He says we have to go there first to be cleared by Kingsley, then it’s a three hour long ferry out to Azkaban.”

“Oh.” Dagmar wrinkled her nose slightly. She already wasn’t looking forward to this without six hours worth of travel. “I guess that would work.”

“Do you think it’s worth spending the night at my manor if we have to be in London that early?” Draco asked as he dashed down a response.

“Mm. . .” Dagmar paused in her own writing. “Would it interfere with our anniversary plans?”

“Doubt it,” Draco replied. “Might even fit in nicely. We could go back to where it all began.”

Despite her reservations for why they went back to Britain, Dagmar smiled and reached over to squeeze Draco’s knee. Dagmar could see the allure of shacking up in Draco’s room. A year ago, they had been in Bergen for their week-long holiday. Sunday would mark the day they’d returned to Malfoy Manor and Draco had asked if they could formalize their courtship.

Draco’s coworkers all agreed to a noon takeoff on Friday. He spent the brunt of the morning doing some maintenance on his Firebolt, while Dagmar was finally able to crack the first of her textbooks. With Draco having nothing to do past eleven o’clock to preoccupy himself, Dagmar didn’t get a whole lot done either while he bummed around and played with Heimdall. Heimdall skittered around after the light reflected off Draco’s watch face.

The fireplace worked, startling Dagmar since she’d lost track of time. A woman no taller than Hermione and with strawberry blonde hair stepped out. She brushed loose hair out of her face, shuffling her Firebolt from one hand to the other so that she could shake Dagmar’s hand.

“Hanna,” she introduced herself, smile flickering as she watched Heimdall sprint up the stairs. “Oh, did I scare your cat?”

“He’s not big on strangers,” Dagmar told her. “Don’t take it personally.”

When Roar and the girls had visited to help with the garden, Draco had made a joke about Heimdall not knowing the difference between a visitor and a murderer. Draco just smiled in a strained way this time. Hanna didn’t have a chance to notice his hesitation before the fireplace lit up emerald again. A stocky man with short, brown hair stepped out. He clapped Draco on the shoulder, although extended a hand to Dagmar to introduce himself as Leo.

“Alex is right behind me,” he said in English. Hanna furrowed her brow at the change, but Leo switched back to clumsy Norwegian when a tall blond stepped out of the fireplace. While they all chatted, Dagmar noticed Alex taking interested glances at her spread of textbooks.

“You must be the Dagmar Frida mentioned,” he said. “She’s my sister.”

“Must be.” Dagmar chuckled. “She said she had a brother, but not that you were a dragonologist.”

The last to arrive was Masha, who reminded Dagmar immediately of Milly in how serious and focused she was. Now that she was there, they could all head off. Their voices carried in from the garden and quickly tapered off with their departure. Nearly a quarter-hour passed before Heimdall tentatively rejoined Dagmar on the love seat. He purred, eyes closed as she mindlessly pet him while reading.

They all returned mid-afternoon. Draco was just as excited as when he’d come home Monday from the reserve. He ended up offering them all coffee as they chatted out on the top deck. Dagmar hoped she didn’t come off as antisocial by not joining them, but she wanted to give Draco a chance to foster what would likely be his primary social circle for many years to come. She enjoyed listening to Draco flourish in his new environment through the open windows.

That endearment followed Dagmar into the weekend, which she and Draco ended up treating like an extended celebration for their first year together. Dagmar found herself checking her jewelry box Sunday morning while she packed for a night in Britain. The ring she’d lent Draco for sizing had yet to be returned, which disappointed Dagmar. Her finger was starting to feel bare without something on it.

Dagmar kept constant contact with Draco while they took a long walk Sunday afternoon around the back trail. They had dinner at the Fløyen restaurant. They relaxed for a little while at home before gathering up their bags and apparating down to Den Sultne Jotunn.

Malfoy Manor was silent and unlit when they arrived. Dagmar had a feeling it had yet to be used since deemed headquarters for the Order. Especially considering what they’d come to Britain for in the first place, the lack of life felt heavier than usual.

Even Draco’s room had turned impersonal, since it had been stripped of all his belongings. It felt more like a room at an inn than his childhood bedroom. Dagmar’s heart squeezed a little by it, and she could see Draco struggling with it as well. She was more than happy to distract Draco by guiding him to the bed.

Draco sighed afterward, seeming to have pulled himself back out of his inscrutable mood. “It’s starting to feel familiar again.”

Dagmar chuckled. “This room will always be a special place to me.”

She could still see ghosts of the initial milestones the two of them passed together. Dagmar’s favourite spot in the early days was the chair over by Draco’s desk. It was where she’d first learned about their arrangements. That initial crushing doubt had long since been erased.

Dagmar budged up closer as she considered the end of the bed, where she and Draco had sat a year ago that day. “I was so naive about how much a good snog could turn me on.”

“I wasn’t.” Even though he’d been inside Dagmar less than ten minutes ago, Draco’s laugh turned airy with embarrassment. “I remember thinking I hoped you hadn’t noticed.”

“I did,” Dagmar admitted. “Sorry.”

Draco pressed his face into Dagmar’s hair with a quiet groan.

“I don’t have to use much imagination to guess what you got up to after I left.” Dagmar rubbed his arm. “I did the same thing, if it makes you feel any better.”

Dagmar struggled back then with the idea of a man lighting her up like that. It was so common now, that Dagmar acknowledged it when it came on no differently than something like hunger or thirst. It was a basic physical need with a clear method of care.

“So where do you see us in a year from now?” Dagmar asked.

Draco hummed, his touch turning rhythmic. “Honestly, probably not much different than things are right now. I like where we are. Engaged, I hope. Maybe back in contact with my mum and planning how to move toward getting married.”

“We’ll be engaged so long as you care enough to ask between now and then,” Dagmar jested. “Otherwise, I’m quite content too. It’s a good life, what we have now.”

It wasn’t until Dagmar tried to doze off that she recalled another occurrence a year ago that day. She’d gone home, since the Ministry search had concluded. Her mum had said something about rather having to put their home back together than sitting in a cell in Azkaban. Dagmar hated it when she said that then, and it was even less funny now as Dagmar prepared to go visit her there.

Going to sleep on that sentiment robbed Dagmar of any real rest. A rock settled in her stomach when the new day dawned. Draco was equally quiet and distracted as they went about getting ready. Just like the previous Monday, getting up so early was difficult. They had at least been excited about orientation.

Dagmar went through the fireplace first to Diagon Alley. Neither she or Draco had ever used the Ministry’s visitor entrance, but Potter had written them instructions on how to navigate the ten minute walk from the Leaky Cauldron.

“Didn’t you ever visit the Ministry with your father?” Dagmar asked as she took Draco’s hand in the street.

“Not often, but he always apparated.” Draco smirked more out of humour than arrogance. “Minister’s special allowance and all that. I can’t really imagine my father walking out here with all the Muggles.”

“Me neither.”

The Muggles weren’t dirty or sketchy looking in this part of London. The tourists were already out in droves, which Dagmar supposed shouldn’t be unusual. One of the streets they crossed was a straight shot to Buckingham Palace. The weather was nice too. London and Bergen suffered from a similar problem of frequent drizzle, so anything to the contrary didn’t go without notice. Dagmar heard frequent mention of it in nearby conversations.

“This must be it,” Draco said as they came up to an abandoned, red telephone booth.

Dagmar fixed the identification clip ejected by the phone to her blouse and leaned against Draco as the booth sunk into the ground. She was just starting to feel claustrophobic when light appeared near their feet. Dagmar rarely visited the Ministry, so her gaze was everywhere as they stepped out into the Atrium. Had she not been looking toward the Magical Brethren statue, she might have missed a wave and call of her name. Dagmar let go of Draco’s hand so that she could give Hermione a hug when they met up.

“What’re you doing here?” Dagmar asked when she let her go. “I didn’t even think you’d be available this morning.”

“I start at eight.” Beaming, Hermione gave Draco a nod of acknowledgement as he caught up to them. “I thought it’d be a good chance to say hello. I can show you where the Auror office is too, if you like. Not that you probably need the help.”

“Come anyway,” Dagmar invited her. “I wish we could arrange to meet up later, but we have no idea when we’ll be back.”

Hermione’s grin faded. “How’re you feeling about the whole thing?”

“Probably about as good as could be expected.” Dagmar grimaced and shrugged. “I wanted to try to come into today looking forward to seeing my mum for the first time in nearly a year. It’s not quite working. It’s a loaded visit.”

“No kidding.”

Hermione lingered as Dagmar and Draco registered their wands at the security stand. They carried on toward the lifts. Cool panic washed Dagmar’s innards when she met the gaze of someone familiar. Ernie waited for a lift as well. He’d cut his hair short since the end of the school year and wore a pinstriped suit. In the half-second they looked at each other, Dagmar saw all the colour drain from his face. They hadn’t spoken since study hall last forced them to, although Dagmar had heard a whisper in the meantime that Ernie referred to her as a dodged bludger.

Thankfully, he didn’t get into the same lift as Dagmar, Draco, and Hermione. They got out at Level Two, and Hermione walked them up to the door that led into the Auror office.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run before I’m late.” She took a step back to the lifts. “Send me an owl or something whenever you’ve got time. I’d love to see each other for longer than this.”

“I feel bad I haven’t,” Dagmar said to Draco as they headed into the Auror office. “I guess everyone’s just getting settled in right now, ja?”

Draco nodded. “I haven’t talked to Blaise or anyone either. Wouldn’t hurt to send him an owl sometime soon, see he’s all right and not bored to death yet at the bank.”

Dagmar laughed, although it fell flat in the face of so many serious Aurors around them. Some looked up as if suspicious they were there, but returned to their business when Kingsley came out of his office.

“Morning.” He passed them by, heading for the exit. “We’ll leave straight away. Harry and Kat are already up at the ferry terminal.”

They all kept on down along the hallway past more doors, some open but most closed.

“There are two security points,” Kingsley told them. “You’ll go through one before getting on the ferry. You’ll be asked to remove any jewelry and to turn out your pockets, along with your wand. You’ll also be temporarily stymied.”

“Er. . .what’s that?” Draco hesitantly asked.

“New thing the Azkaban admin office came up with.” Kingsley turned up the wrist of his right hand and pulled back his robe. He touched a spot a few inches down from the heel of his palm. “A small rod is placed at the head of your magic conduit. Essentially, without your wand, you would be a Squib.”

Dagmar’s stomach tossed nastily. She didn’t like the idea of that at all, even if it was only temporary. “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve heard it’s uncomfortable, but I couldn’t say personally. Enforcement officers aren’t required to go through the process.”

Dagmar exchanged a glance with Draco. He looked about as comfortable as her with it, but what else could they do? They’d come this far. Dagmar didn’t feel like she could turn back now. If she did, she wouldn’t get this close to visiting Azkaban again.

They turned into a room near the end of the corridor. It was fit with unmarked fireplaces. The one Kingsley gestured them toward was a straight route that required no spoken instruction. Dagmar stepped out when she spotted Potter kicking his feet along in a slow pace, his arms folded. Parasca stood over by the small terminal’s windows. The weather was a little more overcast here, and the waters of the North Sea choppy.

Parasca looked over, and Potter stilled. Neither of them had a chance to say anything before Draco appeared next, followed quickly by Kingsley.

“Right.” Kingsley gestured to the left. “This way.”

The security checkpoint Kingsley had mentioned was just around the corner. Parasca went first, although had come prepared by having nothing in her robe pockets spare her wand. She and Potter both got to keep them. Draco stepped forward next, since Dagmar hesitated. He handed over his wand and the few coins he’d packed as a precaution. Dagmar couldn’t see his face as one of the security agents requested he extend his right arm, but he didn’t flinch as what looked like a small pin was pushed into his wrist. His middle and ring fingers twitched though, and he rubbed the insertion point afterward. He wore a grimace as he joined where Parasca and Potter waited.

“Come along, then,” one of the agents prompted Dagmar.

Her heart pounded as she shakily handed over her wand and Potter’s directions for the Ministry entrance. The security agent had to grip Dagmar’s hand to steady it. Feeling a little lightheaded, Dagmar looked away as she waited for the puncture. Something went quiet inside of her, like a hush of the mind before sleep. The security agent let go of Dagmar’s hand. It didn’t hurt, but Dagmar still disliked it greatly. She could feel the pin there if she flexed her hand.

Kingsley waved them off before heading back the way he’d come. A hint of the sea teased Dagmar’s nostrils, similar to the salty air back home. Around another corner, they went through a pair of doors. A short ramp led on to the ferry. A couple more security agents closed the rear gate behind them.

The ferry jarred into motion as they walked toward the cabin. Inside, there were a couple of booths and transport cells. Parasca and Potter took a seat on one side of the closest booth. Dagmar followed Draco in across from them. The mainland already shrunk in their wake.

“So what’s the plan?” Draco asked to break the silence. “ _Is_ there one? Will we be alone with our parents? Together or separate?”

“Their cells are in different sections of the prison,” Parasca answered. “There isn’t a visiting area. It’s still a relatively new thing for outsiders to come in. You won’t be alone. Harry was going to go with you, Draco, and I’ll accompany you, Dagmar.”

Draco frowned. “My father won’t say anything in front of Potter.”

“Kingsley arranged with the gaoler for me to bring my invisibility cloak,” Potter replied. “Would your dad believe you if you said your estate advocate pulled some strings and got you in alone?”

“He might.”

“Worth a shot, anyway.” Potter shrugged.

“Do you speak Norwegian?” Dagmar asked Parasca. “I’m sure my mum will speak that rather than English.”

“Someone there will,” Parasca said. “They would have already prepared for that possibility before allowing this visit.”

“Okay.”

The mainland disappeared below the horizon. There wasn’t much else to discuss about the visit to come, and conversation was stiff otherwise. Dagmar grew restless. There was only so many times she could take a short walk around the ferry or stand at the edge and look for fish in the dark waters below. The ferry security followed her at a short distance. They weren’t much keen to let Dagmar and Draco talk alone when he came to find her once.

Dagmar resigned to stay in the cabin after that. There was an old set of wizarding chess left for passengers which, even though Dagmar didn’t much care for the game, was something to kill the time. She didn’t do much in that regard when playing against Potter, since he was good at it. Draco challenged Potter afterward. Dagmar switched him places so they could keep on. She and Parasca tried out the deck of playing cards.

Parasca ended up dealing Draco and Potter in once their game wrapped up. The games Parasca knew were simple enough that Dagmar didn’t feel overworked with her lack of focus today. Potter knew a couple games too, from growing up with Muggles. With the games as a nice distraction from where they all headed toward, Dagmar found it easier to relax. Parasca was more interesting to listen to here than in their old Defence classroom, since she didn’t have to worry about staying on a certain topic for the sake of their education. She told them some stories from her Auror days before the topic transitioned to her life in Romania.

Dagmar discarded for her turn. “Do you miss it there at all?”

“Da and nu,” she replied, picking up from the deck. “It was an adjustment for sure, coming to Britain. I didn’t think I would have such difficulty moving so far away from my parents. I spent a lot of time with them after I retired. On the other hand, being so close to Luca for the year was lovely. We didn’t have as much time together as I would’ve liked before he started at Durmstrang. I worried what would come of me and Luca’s relationship when I consulted on that strigoi case—well, the Voldemort case. He stayed with my parents while I was away. I was gone longer than I thought I would be, but I think all it did was make him see my parents as like a second set for himself.”

The game had stalled. Draco looked over at Potter. “Your turn.”

“Er—right.” Potter sat up straighter again before reaching for the deck.

On top of Hermione and Blaise, Dagmar filed it mentally away that she ought to reach out to Luca before he returned to Hogwarts. Because Luca went to Romania on the holidays, Dagmar didn’t expect she would have a chance to see him over Christmas or Easter. Even if he stayed in Britain to be with his mum, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be too busy.

The sea grew more restless outside, the sky darker. Dagmar started to grow motion sick from the constant rocking. She was almost relieved to see something appear on the horizon while catching some fresh air. A stone building rose up into the sky like an obelisk.

Dagmar almost wondered how the ferry would line up with the dock when the waters were so rough. The security teams working on both sides of it managed. When Dagmar stepped off onto the island’s barren, uneven ground, it still felt like it moved underneath her. The light drizzle hit like shards of ice against her cheeks. Dagmar kept her mouth closed tight while going through the last security checkpoint. Seasickness contributed threateningly to her reemerged fear of tossing. Even though the guards cleared Dagmar for entry, they still didn’t look completely like they trusted her.

Parasca and Potter waited for Dagmar and Draco. Potter had pulled a familiar silver cloak out from the inside of his jacket. It laid folded over one arm.

The gaoler greeted them then, gesturing them over to his office. He had a few logistics to go over with them. He raised the point that Hildegard was bilingual, and that someone speaking both English and Norwegian would have to accompany Dagmar to the cell. Dagmar was relieved that Parasca said she would still like to go. The gaoler allowed it. With introduction to that guard and another, they left the office.

The two guards brought them to a stop at a fork.

“We’ll be going through here,” the one assigned to Dagmar said with a jab of his thumb toward the left gate. “Malfoy’s the other way.”

“Right.” With that, Potter threw his cloak on. The air where he stood wavered for a second before stilling as he disappeared.

Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Draco unstuck his tongue long enough to say. He’d gone pale, and Dagmar doubted she had anymore colour right now.

Dagmar’s legs felt weak as her guard led her and Parasca on. They were admitted to the north wing by two more guards. After traversing a small, cramped hallway, cells appeared. The first prisoners didn’t notice Dagmar. Before she’d reached the first flight of stairs, some were standing at their bars and yelling to alert other prisoners that something in their environment had changed. Dagmar’s heart thumped in her throat, which did little to help her breathe as they climbed even more stairs. On the fourth floor, Dagmar’s veins ran cold when she heard her name coming from one of the cells they passed.

“Daaagmaaar. . .” it repeated in a teasing manner.

The guard ushered Dagmar and Parasca on, since they’d both stopped. “Pay Lestrange no mind.”

Dagmar pulled in a little more on herself. She couldn’t remember ever meeting Rodolphus Lestrange before. It unsettled her that he knew who she was, even if it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination given his acquaintanceship with her parents. Dagmar jumped a little bit when touched on the shoulder, but it was only Parasca. She offered Dagmar a tight smile in attempt to comfort her. Dagmar didn’t know if that was possible right now, but she appreciated the effort.

The cold sea air passed through Azkaban unhampered. Dagmar’s teeth chattered. She wished she’d worn a thicker jacket. Her trembling worsened as, after another flight of stairs and traipse down the corridor, the guard came to a stop. He clattered a stick he carried against the bars of a cell.

“Ramstad,” he sharply spoke. “Visitor.”

Dagmar’s mum sat on the bed in the corner of her cell, knees folded in and head leaned against the wall as she looked up and out her small window. Even though there was likely nothing to see in the grey sky, Dagmar’s mum seemed hard-pressed to pull her gaze away from it.

Her demeanour changed when she saw Dagmar. A couple rapid blinks seemed to lessen the dullness of her eyes. She pushed herself to sit up straighter. Dagmar’s throat clamped as the guard unlocked the cell door and gestured her in. He closed it behind her.

Dagmar lingered close to it, still uncertain. Her mum’s hair had lost its shine and clumped in places. She’d lost some weight, which turned her once healthy face sharp and hollow. There were dark circles around her mum’s eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Maybe she hadn’t.

When her mum crossed the cell, Dagmar had to fight with herself not to try and move away. She was already pretty much in a corner. Dagmar couldn’t go any stiffer when her mum wrapped her arms around her. They tightened beyond what her mum looked even capable of in her state. Barely a sniffle preceded a rack of her mum’s body. Her sobs were otherwise quiet spare the shudder of her breath.

Eyes stinging, Dagmar returned her mum’s hug. She was lucky to be able to, despite where they were or the circumstances that brought them together. Dagmar had waffled with doubt since last summer whether or not she would ever see her mum again. It hadn’t seemed likely at all after Dumbledore informed her of her dad’s death. The future looked no different. Unless Potter needed her to come back up here and milk more information out of her mum, it was extremely unlikely Dagmar would get another pass to Azkaban.

“Oh, don’t cry,” her mum whispered in her ear. “You’re too beautiful for that, jenta mi.”

Dagmar managed a strangled laugh. She let go of her mum to look back outside the cell at the sound of voices, but it was just the second guard translating Dagmar’s mum’s words to Parasca.

“How did you get to come here?” Dagmar’s mum cradled her face so that she could wipe Dagmar’s cheeks with her thumbs. “I didn’t think anyone but Aurors would be able to. I didn’t think you’d _want_ to.”

Dagmar shrugged at that sentiment, feeling guilty that it was true. “Mrs. Keene pulled some strings. I don’t know that I’ll get a second visit, but. . .”

Her mum’s face tightened. She rubbed Dagmar’s arms. “Well, I’m happy to see you anyway.”

“You too.”

Her mum gestured at her bed, which looked so decrepit compared to the comfortable life they used to have. “How long are you here for? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure.” Dagmar could feel the frame through the mattress when she sat down. The blanket was so thin, it bordered on transparent. “They didn’t say.”

“Tell me what’s going on with you, then,” her mum said, slightly breathless. “I was thinking about you when the end of June came. I think about you all the time, actually. Are you still with Draco?”

“Mhm.” Dagmar fidgeted a little. “We’re talking about getting engaged soon.”

A warm smile came over her mum. “School went well?”

Dagmar nodded. “I wrote straight Os on the NEWTs. Draco and I both graduated with distinction. Him and I were lucky to have such a good group of friends to see us through the last few months. If I didn’t have them—if I didn’t have Draco—I would’ve had nobody. So I guess all considered, ja, I did pretty good.”

While Dagmar spoke, her mum’s smile slowly fell. Dagmar’s flash of happiness to see her mum just as quickly evaporated. Resentment—a much more common emotion—reemerged.

“We’ve never talked about Voldemort, or why you had anything to do with him.” Dagmar worked to keep her voice steady. “I always hated it. You must have known that. I was ashamed of you and Dad. I planned pretty much right from the time you joined him that I would go my own way after Hogwarts, but not like this. I think I deserve to know just what you were thinking. I want to know what was more important to you than our family. I need a reason before I feel ready to start spreading Dad’s ashes.”

Dagmar’s mum gave her an owlish look. “You can’t really have come all this way to talk about that?”

“Don’t you dare,” Dagmar snapped. “You don’t get to play stupid or deflect anymore. That went out the window when you got Dad killed.”

A heavy shine rose in her mum’s eyes. Although Dagmar felt bad as her mum’s breath shortened and she sat there like a child in trouble as she cried anew, Dagmar didn’t let her see that.

“You and your dad are all I think about,” she shakily spoke once she’d composed herself. “It’s all I can see when I close my eyes. His face. . .herregud, I miss him.”

“So do I.” Dagmar’s chest tightened. “His ashes are on the mantle in my house. Mrs. Keene gave me the list of places he requested they be spread, but I can’t do it yet. I need closure, Mum. I need to know what happened.”

Her mum shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You can so. You just won’t.” Dagmar’s stomach rolled hot with anger. “I’m not a child anymore. I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks. If you have any love left for me, you’ll explain yourself. You and I are the only ones left. You’re spending the rest of your life here. This is it. I don’t know, if you’re not willing to finally be honest with me, that I’ll be able to take this anymore with you. It was already intolerable. I’m just fine moving on with my life and leaving you in the hands of the Aurors. Are _you?_ ”

Her mum’s bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. It was at least a good sign that she was thinking. She glanced at Parasca and the guard before replying in a whisper—rather, a slew of hisses that Dagmar not only recognized, but understood: “It’s far from over. I can’t tell you—”

“HEY!” The guard hit his stick against the bars, making Dagmar jump. “No whispering!”

He was opening the cell door again. Panic came over Dagmar’s mum and she gripped Dagmar’s arm before carrying on. “I can’t tell you. I really can’t. He was protecting us. The Ministry, Dumbledore. . .they would rather have us dead.”

It was all she could say before red light hit her and she slumped back on the bed, stunned. Dagmar cried out from the surprise of it, but didn’t get much else a chance to react before the guard was pulling her up, away, and out. Dagmar resisted his heavy-handed guidance until she was back out in the hallway. Parasca was giving Dagmar a shrewd look, which compelled Dagmar to avert her gaze.

“You know the way back to the exit?” the guard asked Parasca. “I’ll have to deal with her.”

“I believe so,” Parasca replied.

Dagmar wanted to stay since she’d hardly had any time at all with her mum. She sincerely doubted now, after that, she’d ever be allowed back to see her.

“Come on,” Parasca gently coaxed Dagmar as she lingered at the edge of her mum’s cell. “You shouldn’t be here for this.”

* * *

Draco only had one flight of stairs to go before the guard leading him and Potter to his father’s cell came to a stop. It gave Draco no pleasure to see his father jarred awake out of sleep. He pitied the slightly-emaciated version of his manor’s old patriarch curled up under a ratty grey blanket. It embarrassed Draco that Potter should see his father like that as well.

His father blinked at the guard before his grey eyes shifted to Draco instead. His fatigue seemed to disappear and make room for some mimicry of his old regality. He turned haughty as the guard unlocked the cell to admit Draco. When his father sat up in his bed, he idly tried to pat down his hair. His stubble came in grey in places, making him look far older than his actual years.

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing back over his shoulder as the guard’s echoing footsteps receded down the hallway. His father listened too, thinking.

“I must not be that dangerous of a prisoner in the Ministry’s eyes,” he remarked, voice gravelly. He cleared his throat. “The only other visitor they left me alone with was Dumbledore. I suppose they think you can handle your own, whether or not you have that pin in your wrist.”

Draco’s father flashed his. Where Draco had been stymied earlier, a small dot not dissimilar to a bruise had developed on his father’s forearm.

“Not like it would be hard,” Draco coolly replied. “You don’t look like you could fight your way out of a wet paper bag right now.”

His father’s eyes narrowed, mouth pulling down at the corners into a sneer.

“Of course—” his tone bypassed Draco’s in iciness, “if they’re comfortable leaving the two of us alone, they must not think anything _productive_ could come of this conversation.”

“Mr. Clayton pulled some strings,” Draco repeated the story they’d come up with. “The amount of damage control I’ve had to do thanks to you has been more than expected. It’s likely only by the grace of that our assets haven’t been fully seized, and the wealth stripped from our name—not that the name means anything anymore.”

His father’s face lengthened at that. Draco had touched a nerve. “What sort of damage control?”

“Alliances,” Draco answered. “The Dark Lord is gone. Disappeared again, like he does best. You can’t think your antics gave me much other choice than to turn to Dumbledore.”

His father studied him. “You’re sure that was wise?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it was or not. I did what I had to.”

Draco hesitated to say more, unsure if he should be telling his father anything like this. In Azkaban or not, his father was still a high-ranking Death Eater. Draco had to remind himself that Azkaban was secured now by Aurors. While perhaps not the most despondent place in the world anymore, it was probably now the most secure.

“Heard from your mother?” his father asked.

“No.”

“Hm.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What about it?”

“I was told she vanished.” Whatever had happened between Draco’s parents, his father still aged a little with new concern. “I suppose she’s safe. The Dark Lord always takes care of those who are loyal.”

“You think she’s with him?”

“I can’t imagine where else she would be.” His father shrugged. “Bella would’ve gone to get her before the Ministry could.”

“I suspected that,” Draco said. “I didn’t hear anything, though. Still haven’t. I thought that if the Dark Lord had her, he would’ve used her to draw me in.”

“Perhaps not. He’s normally above such shortsightedness.”

That unsettled Draco, even though he had direct evidence to the contrary that his mum was safe somewhere far away from here. His father didn’t know about the letter. He didn’t even seem to know that the night of his arrest had also marked the end of his marriage.

“Should I be concerned, then?” Draco asked.

“No.” His father dismissed the notion with a wave. “It doesn’t matter. None of it does. The Dark Lord’s impending reign is inevitable. Once that happens, the world will only come down to blood. We’ll be fine—rewarded, in fact, for our loyalty during times when mere faith had to suffice. It won’t even matter that you’ve allied yourself in the meantime with Dumbledore. It might even work in your favour if you have information when the time comes that could put him in the Dark Lord’s hands.”

Draco suppressed a grimace, for he could only imagine how those words were going to be interpreted by Potter. He hoped he’d garnered enough trust for it to blow over.

“What’s the Dark Lord waiting for, then?” Draco asked. “What does he need to make that happen?”

Draco’s father eyed him in new thought. “He could take it right now. It’s just not ideal. He needs to wait if he wants it to be more than a temporary fix.”

“He needs to find what he’s looking for,” Draco spoke for him. “Who’s Magnus Norheim?”

“Now, where ever did you hear that name?” His father’s tone turned teasing. “Hm, I suppose that answers the mystery as to where Everett and Hugo wound up. It gives me hope that, even if someone can’t be found at the moment, nobody can truly hide forever.”

“What did Norheim steal?”

“I’m sure you’d love to know.”

“Why else would I ask?”

“There are always ears here,” Draco’s father said. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how we last parted ways. I’m no fool, boy. Who’s listening? Dumbledore? Potter, perhaps?”

Draco just shrugged. “Forgive me for trying to help.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what you were doing. _Who_ you’re trying to help is the question,” his father replied. “I won’t risk it.”

“So then there’s a chance the Dark Lord could be stopped.”

“No, like I said.” His father idly picked at the grime underneath his nails. “It’s a matter of what’s most ideal. Believe me, you personally do not want the Dark Lord to be forced to rush.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I hope you don’t find out.”

Perhaps having sensed the end of productivity in this conversation—as if there’d been a beginning to it—footsteps returned down the hallway. The same guard that had led Draco and Potter there reappeared.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“I think we’re done,” Draco replied. “I’ve nothing else to say.”

“Nor I,” his father said.

The guard unlocked the cell and gestured for Draco to exit. Draco hesitated at the bars.

“I guess this is probably goodbye, then,” Draco told his father. “I can’t imagine I’ll be allowed to come back.”

“It’s not goodbye.” His father smirked anew. “I’ll see you on the other side of all this.”

Draco followed the guard back the way they came. A pit had settled in his stomach. Draco didn’t like that his father gave him so much to think about. Could he be speaking the truth about You-Know-Who’s imminent rise to power, or did Draco just bear witness to how utterly brainwashed his father was by You-Know-Who’s rhetoric?

Dagmar and Parasca had already made it back to the foyer. Dagmar’s face was blotchy, although the tension bled out of her shoulders when she spotted Draco. She felt heavy—weighed down—after Draco brought her into a brief but tight hug. She pulled back a bit when Parasca addressed them with mention of leaving. Draco was more than keen on that.


	11. Unknown Alliance

A dull throb pushed in behind Harry’s eyes from the mere speed of his thoughts. He had enough food for thought from the exchange between Malfoy and his dad, but Parasca also gave Harry a significant look in Azkaban’s foyer. Something had happened with Hildegard too.

They boarded the ferry, and Harry was relieved to feel the rock of water beneath them again. The four of them returned to the same booth they’d been sitting in before. As Harry idly studied Malfoy and Ramstad across from him, both looked like they could go for a long kip. Malfoy kept rubbing his eyes as he stared otherwise unblinking out the window. Ramstad didn’t seem capable of correcting the bend to her spine.

“Dagmar.” As softly as Parasca said it, Ramstad slightly started. “I didn’t catch the end of what your mother said.”

“Me neither,” Ramstad replied. “I couldn’t hear her over the guard.”

“I didn’t know you’re a Parselmouth.”

Colour rose in Ramstad’s cheeks, and her eyes widened. Heat also bloomed in Harry, not of embarrassment but anger.

“You’re a Parselmouth,” he repeated.

Ramstad wouldn’t look at him. Her gaze lingered more toward Malfoy. Annoyance twinged in Harry’s stomach to see Malfoy comfort her with a hand on hers.

“Well?” Harry pressed.

“Harry,” Parasca sternly said.

“What about it?” Ramstad finally looked at Harry. “So are you.”

“You never thought it maybe just a _little_ important to tell anyone?”

“Nei.”

“And why not?”

“It’s not automatically a bad thing.” Ramstad’s cheeks darkened further in defensiveness. “I’ve never used it for anything besides talking to garden snakes when I was a kid.”

Neither had Harry, except where the Chamber of Secrets had been concerned. He steamed in his seat, unsure he could handle anymore critical information being dropped on him today.

Parasca took over again, gentle where Harry had been abrupt. “You didn’t hear anything at all that your mother said?”

“Well, a little,” Ramstad hedged. “Just that this was all far from over. I assume she was talking about Voldemort.”

“My father believes the same thing,” Malfoy said.

“Do _you?_ ” Harry shot at him.

“Harry.” Parasca’s voice turned sharp. “Take a walk.”

Her tone deflated Harry. He figured that if he hadn’t ruffled up Malfoy and Ramstad, they would’ve found some entertainment value in it. Pride stinging, Harry resigned to leave the cabin. The cold sea air was harsh on his face as he looked back at the receding tower.

The cabin door made its characteristic squeak as it opened. Harry expected Parasca. When Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Malfoy, he wished a tongue-lashing from his mentor was the case.

Harry looked in the other direction when Malfoy leaned against the railing beside him. If Harry pretended he wasn’t there, maybe Malfoy would just go away.

“Get it off your chest, then,” Malfoy told him.

Harry considered Malfoy. His expression was set, cleared up now since leaving Azkaban. Loose, wavy hairs brushed against his forehead in the errant breeze.

“Go ahead and say it,” Malfoy kept on when Harry didn’t respond. “You don’t trust us.”

“Doesn’t help when you keep hiding stuff like that.” Harry jerked his head back at the cabin. “You two didn’t think it was relevant at all? Maybe just for transparency?”

“Look, I’m sure Dagmar is telling Parasca this right now, so I might as well spare you the wait for when she’ll fill you in later,” Malfoy said. “When Dagmar and I talked to Dumbledore before our first Order meeting, he told us about how it wasn’t certain Erik was Dagmar’s father. He said that it also sounded like Hildegard and You-Know-Who knew each other before, which—well, I’m sure you can piece together the connotation. No, Dagmar never told him because she didn’t want anyone to suspect that her and You-Know-Who were related. You know why? Because it doesn’t matter. Dagmar hates him. She wouldn’t go ‘oh well then, family is family’ if it turned out he was her dad or something. That’s something _you_ would think of her, though. Wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe, but I would’ve liked to think it all through before you were Order members, and before you offered your manor up as the new headquarters.”

Malfoy threw a hand up. “I guess this is your chance, then. There hasn’t been a whole lot going on. You’ve got time to get over it.”

Harry supposed that was true, but it still didn’t sit right with him. Malfoy and Ramstad had never been forthcoming. This was an established pattern. Harry never knew anything relevant about them until it either somehow benefited them or he learned it by accident. How could Harry trust someone like that? He never felt like he was playing with all the pieces of the puzzle, as if Malfoy and Ramstad held a couple in their pockets until they saw a picture of themselves emerge in the grander scheme of things.

“What about what your dad said?” Harry switched topics.

“What about it?” Malfoy’s tone remained brusque.

“You didn’t answer what I asked,” Harry said. “Do you believe him?”

“Maybe—but not the way you’re thinking.” Malfoy cast Harry a quick look of contempt. “My father really believes what he says, and there might be a grain of truth to it. There always is, when it comes to You-Know-Who. He spent years studying all sorts of dark and ancient magic when he rose the first time. Who knows what he uncovered?”

The idea of it unsettled Harry. He wasn’t at all comfortable with not knowing what Voldemort was up to. Up until this, he generally always did.

“Is anyone else looking for Norheim?” Malfoy asked.

“Yeah,” Harry partially lied, for he didn’t fully know. “Dumbledore has lots of people on it.”

“I kind of like things as they are.” Malfoy looked at him again. “I don’t want You-Know-Who to find Norheim first. All I want—all Dagmar and I want—is to live our life. No more bloody war.”

“You’re purebloods,” Harry replied. “You’d be fine either way.”

“Yeah, living under the rule of someone that got Dagmar’s dad killed, and who would call the two of us and my mum blood traitors. Sounds like a right good time.”

Harry nodded, but he wasn’t sure he believed Malfoy. Nothing would ever bring back Dagmar’s dad, so it was irrelevant. There would be no such thing as a blood traitor in a hegemonically pure world. Narcissa Malfoy was not only pureblooded but the wife of Voldemort’s right-hand man. Nothing bad would ever come of her. Malfoy and Ramstad had no real stakes in this war either. Vengeance, maybe, on Ramstad’s part. In the end, that was only a superficial motivation. Once Narcissa came home, Malfoy and Ramstad’s interest in helping Harry and anyone else going up against Voldemort would fade. They’d go back to playing neutral.

“Yeah, guess not, hey?” Harry forced himself to go along with it. “I’d say I know what it’s like, but I never knew my parents.”

“There’s no point comparing suffering.” Malfoy leaned forward on the railing. “It all just blows.”

“You never seemed to mind it all when we were younger,” Harry pointed out. “I never seen anyone so excited when the Chamber of Secrets opened and that basilisk was attacking Muggle-borns. Or when Buckbeak hurt you in class. Or when you were feeding Rita Skeeter all that bollocks about me. Or when Cedric died. Or—”

“Okay, okay.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I won’t defend any of that. I _will_ say I felt really stupid when You-Know-Who came back. I didn’t think he would. My father said he wouldn’t. So saying all that stuff and egging you on didn’t have any real consequences besides being an edgy joke. Then—well.”

“Yeah, you were a real upstanding citizen after that, getting all cozy with Umbridge.” Harry’s stomach lurched at the mere thought of her. “You sure seemed sorry.”

A sneer pulled on Malfoy’s face. “She chose me. I didn’t choose her.”

“Oh, then, my apologies.”

Malfoy snorted humourlessly at Harry’s sarcasm. “Oh, come on, Potter. I knew where your little group was meeting.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, unmoved.

“Whatever I did with that information never amounted to anything in the end.” Malfoy waved him off with a grunt. “I never even bothered to tell Dagmar about it.”

It was a convenient story that Malfoy used his position as prefect to run interference, Harry thought. It was even more convenient that nobody could ever confirm it.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me,” Malfoy kept on. “It’ll take time, if it even happens at all. I won’t waste my breath trying to convince you. It was my actions that put us at odds in the first place, so it’ll only be those that put it right.”

“We’ll see what happens when push comes to shove.”

Malfoy lifted his chin to better look down at Harry. “I suppose we will.”

Harry and Malfoy returned to the cabin. Ramstad didn’t look any happier than when Harry had left. Parasca eyed Harry in a way that warned him against any other outbursts.

“Sorry,” he struggled to say, since he still didn’t believe he should have to apologize.

Ramstad just shrugged. “If I knew my mum was a Parselmouth, I would’ve told you up-front. It wouldn’t have mattered then. I just wasn’t comfortable with anyone thinking I had anything that close to do with Voldemort.”

“So then you must have known it would be considered a bad thing.”

“Well. . .ja. I saw how everyone treated you when the Chamber opened,” Ramstad replied. “Before that, my mum had just told me not to make a spectacle of it. Don’t draw attention. I connected the dots on that when everything started going wrong in second year.”

“Did you ever hear the basilisk?”

“Erm. . .”

“A voice in the walls,” Harry specified. “Saying it was hungry, wanted to kill, smelled blood.”

Ramstad’s eyes widened. “Nei, I never heard anything like that.”

Harry nodded mindlessly. “I suppose it didn’t spend much time down in the dungeons. Not much for Muggle-borns in Slytherin, were there?”

“A few.” Malfoy shrugged. “Prewett’s the first one that comes to my mind. She was the only one I knew on a personal level.”

Seeing an opportunity to get them off the topic at hand, Harry snatched it up. “Prewett would be a good contender for Captain. Was she who you left as your suggestion to Snape?”

An amused smirk came over Malfoy. “Now Potter, you wouldn’t be using your position of authority to try and weigh the scale in Gryffindor’s favour next season, would you?”

“No.” Harry managed a chuckle, similarly relieved that Parasca grabbed the playing cards and started shuffling them. “Just curious. I’m sure it’s no mystery who I recommended to McGonagall.”

“Ginny Weasley,” Malfoy said right away, and correctly at that. “I guess it doesn’t really matter if you know. I put up Astoria.”

“Oh, good call.”

Quidditch continued the conversation away from the earlier tension that had sprung up. Malfoy had spent enough time with his new coworkers at the dragon reserve to learn that all four of them used to play Quidditch at Kapsferd, Durmstrang, and Ilvermorny.

“There’s an amateur league in Bergen,” Malfoy carried on. “Our schedule rotation at work is sort of all over the place so we weren’t sure about getting on. The other dragonologists make it work.”

“That’d be cool,” Harry said. “I don’t know when or if I’ll get another opportunity to play.”

“Only problem for me is no guarantee I’ll make it on as Seeker.” Malfoy ended his turn in the game with a discard. “I don’t know how well I’d be as a Chaser or anything. Definitely not Beater. I don’t have the upper-body strength.”

“That might change after you’ve worked at the reserve for a while,” Ramstad told him.

“Oh, maybe.”

The look they shared after that was brief but enough to cause Harry pause as he pretended to study his hand of cards. Today had been a scattershot of emotions for him, so much so that Harry didn’t think he had room left to experience a twinge of envy. Work was his primary focus during the day, but Harry was still quite aware of how quiet and empty Grimmauld Place was in the evenings. Ron listened to a lot of radio lately as the Cannon tryouts for the 1998-1999 season started, which helped. There still remained something vacuous about it. Something was missing. Seeing a couple settle in with each other as life went on made Harry all the more aware of that void.

Harry had to set his personal feelings aside as the ferry approached the mainland a few hours later. He waited for Malfoy and Ramstad as their stymies were removed and their possessions returned to them.

“Well, it’s been fun,” Harry tried at a joke.

Malfoy snorted. “Let’s never do this again. Er—unless you need us to, I guess.”

Harry nodded. Malfoy and Ramstad returned to London first through the floo connection so that they could head straight to the lifts without being spotted with Harry and Parasca. When Harry made it back to the Auror office, he segued to the break room before taking a seat at his desk. His appetite had returned, and a cup of tea might do well to help clear his mind.

He brought his messenger out of his desk, although paused before opening it. Harry pulled a piece of parchment toward him and dashed down a quick note to Hermione:

_Busy tonight? You me and Ron should get together and talk about my trip to Azkaban_

Harry tapped it with his wand when he was done. It folded up like an aeroplane and took flight for the lifts. While he waited for a response, Harry started fixing his notes on Malfoy and Ramstad:

_Draco Malfoy  
_ _Status: alive, living in Bergen, Norway  
_ _Born: June 5th, 1980 at Malfoy Manor  
_ _Alliances: self, Ramstad, Malfoy family(?)  
_ _Connections: Death Eaters (family/background), Dagmar Ramstad (girlfriend/betrothed in summer 1997), Order of the Phoenix (member since Easter 1998), Dumbledore’s Army(?)  
_ _Concerns: versatile loyalty (self-serving), tends to keep secrets, distance from London might exacerbate these tendencies_

_Dagmar Ramstad_ _(possibly not birth name)  
_ _Status: alive, living in Bergen, Norway  
_ _Born: August 15th, 1980 (true date and location unknown but good approximate)  
_ _Alliances: self, Malfoy  
_ _Connections: Death Eaters (parents joined summer 1995, betrothed to Malfoy so sees Lucius and Narcissa as in-laws), Hildegard and Erik Ramstad (mum/stepdad(?)), Magnus Norheim(biological father?), Voldemort?  
_ _Concerns: versatile loyalty, secretive, Parselmouth (through Hildegard)_

Harry lingered on Ramstad’s concern section. Her mum being a Parselmouth didn’t completely rule out a potential familial connection to Voldemort. Maybe it wasn’t something as clear-cut as father-daughter, but something else. Salazar Slytherin lived a thousand years ago. That was a lot of generations in between that could’ve scattered to the wind. It might have something to do with how Voldemort and Hildegard knew each other before Voldemort disappeared.

“Before we wrap up for the day, I wanted to talk to you about what happened on the ferry,” Parasca broke the silence between them once she was done with her own notes.

“Yeah. . .” Harry could see that coming. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“You shouldn’t have reacted at _all.”_ Parasca swivelled her seat to better face him. “You should always be calm and collected when conducting Auror business. When you come at someone with this office behind you, you are its face. It doesn’t matter what personal relationship or history you have. If it makes you angry, sad—even happy—you wait for a private moment to express that.”

“It took me off-guard,” Harry said. “I won’t do it again.”

“I hope we were able to turn it around,” Parasca replied. “Draco and Dagmar didn’t seem upset by the time we returned to the mainland. We don’t know what we might need them for, so we need to make sure they stay forthcoming. If they perceive that they are punished for keeping things to themselves, that might only push them further away.”

“Right.” Regret squirmed around in Harry’s stomach. “Sorry.”

Harry still believed that Ramstad should’ve told at least Dumbledore that she was a Parselmouth. She shouldn’t get all the perks of Order membership without having to make it mean something. Yeah, she gave them use of her manor, but it wasn’t like she planned on living there anyway. Her offer to fund the group didn’t really go anywhere. They did just fine with volunteers.

Hermione returned Harry’s note to say she could swing by around seven or eight if that worked for him and Ron. Harry figured Ron had probably cleared his evening calendar out of eagerness to hear how Harry’s visit to Azkaban went.

Sure enough, Ron was up on the second floor of Grimmauld Place, standing halfway out of his room when Harry passed by on the landing. He still wore the same pyjama pants Harry had seen him in last night.

“All right, then?” he asked.

Harry gave his head a half-shake. “Hermione’s coming by later tonight. We should all talk about it.”

Ron’s interest piqued, but Harry didn’t want to tell the story twice. Ron mentioned throwing something together for dinner (Harry guessed hamburgers and chips again—not that he complained when he didn’t have to cook), so Harry went further up the house to his room to change. He ended up laying down on his bed and closing his eyes, sighing as he went over his day again. It wouldn’t do well to forget anything he, Ron, and Hermione needed to discuss.

Harry thought again about what Malfoy had told him on the ferry deck. Something about it didn’t sit right with Harry, more than just the timing and that Harry couldn’t confirm the story. Malfoy had been holding Harry when Umbridge caught him in his office. Umbridge threatened Harry with the Cruciatus Curse, and Malfoy could hardly contain his excitement. If Harry had thought about it out on the ferry, he would’ve asked Malfoy to justify it. Or, Malfoy could at least try to.

In Harry’s opinion, that wasn’t possible. So then how could Malfoy be telling the truth? If Malfoy told an outright lie, then what did it say about the rest of their tentative alliance?

Harry didn’t really think that Malfoy was in service to Voldemort. Maybe Malfoy didn’t have anything to lose by it, but he didn’t really have anything to gain either. Still, concern weighed Harry down through eating dinner. There were huge consequences if Malfoy and Ramstad’s loyalty didn’t fully lie with the Order. If they only really cared about themselves, then they wouldn’t take well to anything the Order had to do that might personally affect them. They weren’t accustomed to making sacrifices.

Seven o’clock passed, and Harry quickly grew impatient for Hermione to show up. Harry sighed with relief when she called out from the parlour. He was in the midst of boiling water for tea when Hermione joined Harry and Ron in the kitchen.

“All right?” she asked both of them as she sat down. “So, how was Azkaban?”

Harry thought about it. “Informative.”

“How so?”

Harry turned to face them and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Both Lucius and Hildegard seem under the impression that Voldemort will inevitably take over, which, for Death Eaters, is pretty par for the course. I listened in under my invisibility cloak as Malfoy talked to his dad, and Lucius said something about how Voldemort could go ahead with it right now, but it’s not ideal conditions. He wants whatever he’s looking for first.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in thought. She looked slightly annoyed, and Harry didn’t blame her one bit. To not know something so critical was frustrating beyond belief.

“So why doesn’t You-Know-Who take over and then worry about what he’s looking for later?” Ron asked. “Not that I wanna give him any ideas, but. . .what would the difference be to him?”

“It must depend on what he’s looking for,” Hermione replied. “Lucius never said what that might be?”

Harry shook his head. “Malfoy tried a couple times to get it out of him, but you know what Lucius can be like. As soon as Malfoy mentioned Norheim’s name, Lucius figured out that Crabbe and Goyle’s dads came to us. I guess it wasn’t much a stretch of the imagination. Rodolphus Lestrange wouldn’t have told us anything. Hildegard maybe, but that must go to show how much confidence Lucius has in her not to. I mean, Hildegard had the chance to get out when Kingsley went to her and Erik back in March. Erik died, whether because they’re loyal or scared. What’re they willing to lose their lives and freedom to protect?”

Hermione pressed her lips while Ron mindlessly fiddled with his fingers on the tabletop. That question lingered in the air like a bad smell.

“Parasca went with Ramstad while she visited her mum,” Harry kept on. “She said the two of them didn’t get to talk very long. Ramstad went right in on her mum. A guard had to go with them that could translate Norwegian to English for Parasca. At the very end, Hildegard said something to Ramstad in Parseltongue. They’re Parselmouths, the two of them.”

“ _Dagmar_ is?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. “Confirmed it later on the ferry back. Parasca asked her about it, and she admitted it. Said she never told anyone because she didn’t want us thinking she was related to Voldemort or something. Malfoy knew, of course.”

Hermione’s gaze darted, and Harry could see her trying to justify it. Before she could, Harry went on. “I don’t know, guys. I’m having a really hard time feeling like Malfoy and Ramstad are very trustworthy. They’re not in this for anyone but themselves. That’s why they wouldn’t help us until everything fell through with their parents. They were completely content just to let things ride out and then make themselves comfortable in whatever world emerged from that. They’re a couple chameleons.”

“You can’t boil the worth of someone down to what information they can provide,” Hermione told him. “How would they have even gotten anything worth giving us in the first place? They weren’t Death Eaters. You-Know-Who never told them anything. Their parents never did. That’s how they had the opportunity to get out in the first place. You can’t blame them for not coming to you right away, Harry. How could they, when they had nothing to offer? Listen to how you’re talking about them right now. This is what they’re up against.”

Harry shrugged.

“They just went to Azkaban with you,” Hermione said. “They offered to talk to their parents. It sounds to me like you ended up with more out of them than Dumbledore and Kingsley were able to. Isn’t _that_ worth anything?”

“We didn’t get anything concrete, is the thing,” Harry replied. “Lucius clamped up as soon as Malfoy started on Norheim. Lucius also seems to think he’s getting out of Azkaban. If that happens, guess what Malfoy told him? He’d gone to Dumbledore out of necessity.”

“So what, now you’re thinking that’s the truth?” Hermione asked. “That he didn’t have a choice but to join the Order?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Both Ron and Hermione thought about it in the new silence that fell over the kitchen. The kettle started to whistle, so Harry filled the pot he’d prepared.

“I don’t know, mate.” It was Ron that replied this time, hesitant. “Malfoy isn’t a Death Eater. We have concrete evidence for that. They’ve both been questioned unknowingly under Veritaserum. They had no way to put up a defence against it. They’re doing exactly like they said they would. They got out of the country. If they made it that far, why would they change their minds? Why keep themselves involved?”

“Malfoy’s mum,” Harry answered. “Hedging their bets. Take your pick.”

Ron and Hermione shared a look that Harry knew all too well as he brought the teapot and some cups over to the table. His stomach twinged again.

“I think it’s worth wondering how destructive it could be if the tide _did_ turn in Voldemort’s favour,” he said. “Lucius knows now that Malfoy is in with Dumbledore. That means he’s in with me. Lucius even mentioned me, wondering if I was the one listening in on the conversation they were having. Say Voldemort makes a big move, and Lucius is out of Azkaban. How much convincing do you really think Malfoy would need to tell Voldemort everything he knows about _our_ business? He knows where the headquarters is. He knows who a lot of the members are. He knows what we’re doing.”

“That’s just surface info,” Hermione pointed out as she filled the cup Harry slid over to her. “He can’t actually reveal Malfoy Manor. You-Know-Who probably knows our member list. If Malfoy mentioned to Lucius already that he knows about Norheim, then he knows what we’re up to.”

“So then we should probably keep things like that.”

“It’s not really your choice, though,” Hermione said. “The Order isn’t our group. It’s Dumbledore’s. You should talk to him about all this, but if he knows something that contradicts your information, you’re going to have to just make peace with it.”

Harry grunted. “Well, can I at least trust you two to bounce ideas off of?”

“Of course,” Hermione replied with a raise of her eyebrows. “Just don’t get upset if we don’t see eye to eye either.”

“One more thing,” Harry said. “Malfoy told me a little story about something to do with the DA. He said he knew where we were meeting and implied he was running interference or something. Which is a nice thought, but I don’t know.”

To Harry’s relief, both Ron and Hermione looked just as doubtful.

“If he’s trying to say he was on our side the whole time or something, I’ll say he’s taking the piss,” Ron said. “He’s better off just admitting he got whipped into shape by Ramstad and didn’t have the capability to realize how much of a git he was. He had to know You-Know-Who was back after the Triwizard Tournament. How could he not?”

“That’s what I thought,” Harry replied. “What did he have to gain from helping us? If he’s self-motivated, I need to be able to answer that question. I can’t. He was excited that Umbridge might use the Cruciatus on me. Sounds more like Bellatrix Lestrange’s nephew than a double-agent to me.”


	12. Dirt and Dust

Despite the fact it was coming up on dinner time in Bergen, Dagmar still had yet to feel an appetite. Going to Azkaban had been much more taxing than expected.

Draco followed Dagmar upstairs. While she changed in the closet, she heard a grunt from the bedroom itself. Draco had flopped down onto the bed.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Dagmar said.

Draco rubbed his eyes. “It won’t be over until You-Know-Who is gone. Maybe then Potter’ll trust us, but I’m not banking on it.”

“It won’t matter.” Dagmar took a seat between Draco’s hip and the edge of the bed. “Once Voldemort is gone, so are the stakes.”

“Yeah.”

Dagmar ran her hand over Draco’s stomach. “Thoughts on dinner?”

“Let me get changed, and we can figure it out.”

After a squeeze of Draco’s hip, Dagmar headed down to the kitchen. Comfort food seemed like the best idea. Dagmar’s first thought was Yorkshire puddings, but she didn’t feel like waiting a couple hours for the roast to bake. She had taken out reindeer, anyway. She wasn’t sure that would go right in such a classic British dish.

Draco lit some torches on his way into the kitchen. The rain was back. Dagmar listened to it hit the ground and trees outside through the open window over the sink. Warmness spread through her as Draco put his arms around her middle. He rested his head on her shoulder.

“What’d you decide?” he asked.

“Finnbiff,” Dagmar said. “Pretty quick and easy once all the ingredients are prepared. Would you start cutting up some onion, carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms?”

“How much?”

“At least a pound of potatoes, and go by feel on the rest. We could eat this for a few days if we make enough.”

Draco lingered a little bit longer, watching Dagmar shave the roast. He moved along when Dagmar finally paused long enough for a quick kiss. He dug the ground vegetables for the stew out of the pantry. “So your mum’s a Parselmouth.”

“Ja.” Dagmar sighed, fatigue pressing back in. “Add it to the list of things I didn’t know about her.”

“It’s kind of a good thing, right?” Draco asked as he went to the ice box next. “Now you know where it came from.”

Dagmar nodded. “It just opens so many new questions, though. What _else_ has she hidden from me? Will I ever even get a chance to know? The more I learn, the more I miss the days when we were just a normal family. My dad must have known, but I can’t ask him. He was willing to die to protect my mum’s secrets.”

Her stomach had been in knots ever since leaving her mum’s cell. The sensation lessened on the ferry after the dust had settled with Potter’s outburst, but it started to creep back in on Dagmar as she considered the second part of what her mum said.

“I didn’t tell Parasca the whole truth about what my mum told me,” Dagmar said. “Mum said something else in Parseltongue before the guard could separate us. Voldemort was protecting us. She said she couldn’t tell me what for, but that the Ministry and Dumbledore would rather have us dead. I think that’s how she worded it.”

Draco’s brow was furrowed when Dagmar looked over at him. He mindlessly washed their vegetables under the running sink. “Why would they want that?”

“I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t make sense—well.” Draco thought for a moment. “There’s that strong possibility your mum knew Voldemort back in the seventies. Do you think if she was working on something with him and Norheim that whatever it is would be worth something like death? Like if the Ministry knew what it was, they would sentence her to that rather than life in Azkaban?”

“Maybe.” Dagmar grew uncomfortable. “She wasn’t just talking about herself, though. She meant it for me too.”

“Hm.”

Dagmar was at a loss. “Whatever it is has to be tied to Voldemort, and Voldemort alone. I’m thinking now about when the Auror office tried to extend a hand to my parents the night Dad was killed. Dumbledore said they considered it before Dad summoned Voldemort. Based on that, I’m really hesitant to say they didn’t try and consider a way out. Dad wouldn’t have sacrificed himself like that for a maybe.”

“So you think it’s more than just your parents being scared or brainwashed into believing they had no options?”

Dagmar didn’t want to come to that conclusion anymore than Draco apparently did. One side of his face was set in a grimace as he considered her.

“I’m thinking a little deeper on why Dad jumped in front of Voldemort,” Dagmar said. “Maybe something bad would’ve happened to us if Voldemort died.”

“My father said something about how You-Know-Who could easily take over the wizarding world right now if he wanted to,” Draco replied. “He said it just wouldn’t be ideal. He needs something else first, probably whatever Norheim has.”

Dagmar returned to shaving meat while she contemplated that. Try as she might, she couldn’t make the dots connect on how those two things might be related. Maybe they weren’t.

“After Potter’s little fit. . .” Dagmar spoke. “This isn’t something I want to say, but maybe for now we ought to keep this to ourselves. It’s not like it has any real value to them as far as it goes to finding Norheim. They already know how important that is. I’d also like the opportunity to try and look into it more. I should get on about meeting up with Uncle Håkon. He might know something about my mum that could point us in the right direction. He should’ve known her before 1985. I have a stronger feeling now my mum and dad had to know each other back before Voldemort first fell. My dad had some kind of stake in it all too if he had something to lose with Voldemort dying.”

“Yeah, I mean. . .” Draco didn’t look particularly happy to say it either. “It might just come off as alarmist to tell them what your mum said. I also don’t want to play with the possibility your mum might have been right. We have no idea what You-Know-Who’s been up to. If my father is to some degree right that it’s big enough You-Know-Who could take over now if he really wanted to, there needs to be some certainty about what exactly that is. For now, it’s just important that Norheim be found.”

“Hopefully before they find Voldemort.” Dagmar pressed her lips briefly. “If something was going to be triggered by his death, I’d rather not find out what that is.”

“That might very well be why You-Know-Who disappeared again,” Draco replied. “He knows he’s vulnerable.”

Not for the first time, Dagmar grew uncomfortable with a sense of gratefulness to Voldemort. Mr. Malfoy had told her after the manor raid that Voldemort always took care of those who were loyal to him. Did this instance count?

For now, Dagmar was content to try and let things go. There was nothing she could do at the moment. Finding Norheim was the best possible route, and they were all working on that. Dagmar could do her part by reaching out to Uncle Håkon. She headed for the owlery when the stew she and Draco put together simmered on the stovetop.

An owl she didn’t recognize sat in the owlery. It had a letter attached to its leg, semi-destroyed from when the owl had been caught in the rain. It lifted its leg out, and then took off when Dagmar carefully unrolled the damp parchment.

She returned to the kitchen, stomach knotted for an entirely new reason. “I got a note from Arne. He wants to meet at nine tomorrow morning to go over my Fitness to Practice stuff.”

Draco handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Nervous?”

“I guess, although I don’t know what the point would be.”

Dagmar just wished she had a full day to recover from her trip to Azkaban before potentially taking another hit. She felt lucky that exhaustion from it helped her get a good night’s rest.

Her nerves swelled anew as Draco kissed her goodbye in front of the fireplace. “See you in a bit.”

Dagmar followed it up with a tight hug. “Wish me luck.”

She wished he could come with her. Dagmar felt a little shaky as she sat in the anteroom outside of Arne’s office. Her stomach sunk when the door opened.

Regardless of what waited for Dagmar inside, Arne greeted her with a crinkly smile. “Morning. Come on in.”

He gestured at the single chair in front of his desk. Dagmar folded her hands together in her lap as he moved back around to the other side. Her Fitness to Practice package sat in front of him. It looked like it had been handled a fair deal.

“Well, you certainly gave me a lot to go over,” Arne said to break into the conversation.

Since he said it with a tone of jest, Dagmar managed a tight smile. “Ja. . .I just wanted to be as forthcoming as possible. I know my history isn’t exactly what you’d call clean. I definitely believe that the field has to maintain its integrity. If I’m not fit to practice, then. . .I guess that’s just how it is.”

“Before we go into it, I would like to point out that counselling is a mandatory part of the program,” Arne replied. “I’m under no illusions that you or anyone else fresh at the cusp of adulthood will have a perfect background. We were all kids once. We all did stupid stuff, and having magical abilities makes that so much easier than if you were a Muggle.”

Dagmar nodded in agreement. Without magic, all of the trouble she’d listed in her form wouldn’t have been so easily possible.

“There is also your ethics class, first term,” Arne continued. “That being said, I appreciate the chance to speak with you about everything you listed in order to assess the amount of self-awareness you have regarding your actions. As I was looking over your form, though, I started seeing something you perhaps weren’t telling me—maybe because it’s not something you’ve realized. You don’t know when or where specifically you were born, you’re a Parselmouth, and you show an adeptness with elemental magic. What do you think about the possibility you may have descended from a druidic bloodline?”

Dagmar blinked.

“Druids are _very_ secretive,” Arne said when Dagmar made no reply. “Even today, they live separately from the magical community at large. They protect their homes and cities from us the same way we hide ours from non-magical folk.”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar told him. “Maybe. I never thought about it. I don’t know a whole lot about druids.”

“Nobody really does, by design.” Arne gave her a small smile. “I can empathize why, on their part. Druids are a type of magic-user that tap into nature for their power. Some are closely tied to the elements. That’s why what you did to—” Arne consulted the form, “—Ms. Parkinson stuck out to me as so remarkable. And I double-checked with your original application. You first cast the Heafonfýr Curse wandless.”

“Ja.”

“When druids enter general wizarding society, their secrecy tends to perpetuate itself out of habit and leeriness,” Arne said. “The fear is that their abilities draw attention for their perceived usefulness. Sometimes that attention is the wrong kind. For me, personally, I’m looking at you—looking at this—and I’m seeing something I too could make use of in this hospital. Even without formal training, you can control heart rates. I assume that implies you can monitor them as well.”

“I’ve never tried.”

“Would you like to?”

“Like right now?”

“If you’re comfortable with it,” Arne replied.

Dagmar was still trying to absorb everything. She hadn’t come here today intending to have such a large blank in her life filled in. Dagmar had braced herself to be berated and possibly shamed instead. “How would we do that?”

Arne stood up and came to Dagmar’s side of the desk. He gestured for her to stand before removing his wristwatch and setting it down face up beside him. “I’ll have you do to me something like what you did to Ms. Parkinson. First try and see if you can tune in to my heart beat. If you can, manipulate it to match the tick of the second hand on my watch.”

“Okay.”

Under any other circumstance, Dagmar wouldn’t be comfortable putting a hand on her dean of medicine. She was still hesitant, given how using this ability had only ever been detrimental in the past.

Dagmar splayed her fingers across the centre of Arne’s chest. She felt something similar to what she’d noticed in-past with Draco. Arne’s heartbeat resonated against her palm. If she focused harder, she could feel the rhythmic squeeze of each chamber. A picture emerged in Dagmar’s mind of Arne as a whole based on arteries, veins, and nerves. It grew clearer the longer they stood like that.

Trying to be careful, Dagmar shifted her focus to her hand. It had been half a year now since the last time she did this, and she didn’t want to be overzealous. The heat and weight of it gathered in her hand, and Dagmar gently moved it from her to him. Arne inhaled heavier through his nose and his heart picked up a little. It remained pure, for lack of a better word. There was no adrenaline—no fear.

Dagmar’s gaze dropped to Arne’s watch. His heart beat was mismatched to the second hand. It was going a little bit faster. Dagmar gradually closed the gap until they ticked in tandem.

The test was successful with that. Dagmar pulled back on what she’d used to manipulate Arne and removed her hand. She took a deep breath as they studied each other. His growing grin was enough to incite a small smile on Dagmar’s part.

“Now that is something else,” Arne said. “Your eyes even change.”

“Oh?”

He returned to his seat. “I’m very interested to find out how you might flourish in a supportive environment. As far as I can tell from your form here, that ability has only ever been met with misunderstanding. I can see the confusion. Power over nature can translate to power over life and death, which can be conflated with the dark arts. They can be used for destruction, ja, but also in a constructive manner. While things like the Killing Curse have druidic origins, so too do things like apparation.”

“How would I learn more about it?” Dagmar asked.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone else in your situation,” Arne replied. “It’s just something we’re going to have to figure out as we go. You seem to hold good control over it, as well as a healthy appreciation for how its use can go wrong. That helps _me_ be comfortable allowing it in a clinical setting. So long as any patients we use it on give their consent and are aware of any potential risks, there’s no problem. Medical care has always boiled down to that, because absolutely nothing in this field is a hundred-percent certain or guaranteed. We deal with probabilities.”

“Right.”

This possible connection to that field of magic came suddenly, but there had to be some element of truth to it if Dagmar could use it the way she and Arne had just tested. Dagmar only wished she’d had this meeting before going to see her mum in Azkaban. That conversation could’ve been a lot more productive than it ended up being.

“So I’m not being booted from the program, then?” Dagmar asked.

Arne laughed. “Nei. You have a gift that this hospital would benefit greatly from. I will say that because of the fickle nature of it—and with your history of using it in mind—you will be watched closely. I’ll inform your councillor about all this. I think until it becomes applicable in the practical half of the program, we should keep it between the three of us. Oh—and Ingrid, I suppose. She ought to know.”

“Whatever you think needs to be done.” With her next exhale, Dagmar released all the tension she’d arrived at Olaf Kyrre with. “I’m okay with any of it. I’m just glad you don’t think I’m not fit for the profession.”

“Not that it’s really quantified and recorded, but there is a strong druidic history in Norway. This area in particular is rich with it, considering how wild the southwest coast used to be. Bergen wouldn’t even be here if druids hadn’t laid a path for other types of magical folk to settle. This isn’t the kind of magic you just forget about. It’s in your blood, like your ability to speak Parseltongue. You might as well harness it for good, lest you find other outlets. . .like you have been.”

Dagmar didn’t expect to feel so light when she left the hospital after her meeting with Arne concluded. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Draco about everything she’d learned.

When Dagmar apparated onto the garden porch, the wind blew rain in underneath the roof. She stepped quickly into the cottage. It was warm with the fireplace going. Draco sat on the love seat under a blanket with one of the books about dragons he’d bought in Trollmannsgaten. Heimdall was beside him.

“I’m still in,” Dagmar said before Draco could ask. “What a relief.”

“You’re promising enough to give a chance, or what’s the deal?”

“Well. . .”

Dagmar slipped her shoes off and joined Draco on the love seat. She mindlessly pet a purring Heimdall as he wormed his way across her lap. Dagmar recounted her meeting with Arne to Draco.

He studied her when she finished. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good, I think,” Dagmar replied. “If it’s true, so much makes sense. Maybe my mum didn’t appear until 1985 because she was still living with other druids somewhere. She wouldn’t have gone to Kapsferd because druids probably don’t go to school like that. If druids are closer to nature than general wizarding society, then they more likely speak languages like animals would, like Parseltongue. I’ve always felt like there’s something wrong with me, but maybe there actually isn’t. Maybe I’m just different.”

Draco tilted his head in thought. “I remember you saying that you felt it was something you might pass along if you ever had kids.”

That burden coming off Dagmar’s shoulders brought tears to her eyes. “I guess maybe a part of me knew all along about this. I just didn’t have a way to put it into words. I wish my mum had told me. It would’ve spared me a lot of time feeling bad about myself.”

“You might get a chance to ask her if we ever go back to Azkaban.”

“Ja.” Dagmar relaxed further as Draco put an arm around her. She leaned against him. “At the same time, I don’t think it’ll change anything about how open she is. She’s been this secretive my _entire life_. Why would she change now? Especially if that’s just how druids are.”

“I wonder why she left the druids in the first place.”

Dagmar pressed her lips in thought, playing with one of Draco’s hands. “She would’ve left with me, is the thing. I would’ve been born while she was still there. That might give me one answer about my dad being my actual father. He wasn’t one of them.”

“Could be that’s why she left.” Draco shrugged. “If your dad couldn’t live with the druids, maybe she had to leave all that behind if they wanted to be together.”

“Maybe, but I’m at least prepared if that’s not the truth.”

Dagmar snuggled up closer to Draco. This morning had left her all over the place emotionally. She wasn’t sure where to settle, whether she should be excited or concerned.

She frowned as her thoughts returned to the conversation they had the previous evening. “Do we inform the Order?”

Draco hummed. “It would clear up a lot about any suspicions they’ve had of you. It would be a real explanation for where being a Parselmouth came from, although I would brace for the possibility Potter is still paranoid about it.”

“Arne said druids have always been secretive because their abilities are looked at for how they’re useful. They’ve given us the ability to end life, and look how abused the Killing Curse can be. They gave us the ability to move through air without actually passing through the space between—apparation. I could see how it might be useful to the Order. My concern is what my mum said, that Voldemort was protecting us. If they knew each other before, back when my mum was still amongst the druids, I wonder if Voldemort found some use for that power as well.”

“Maybe it has something to do with why he was able to come back after his run-in with the Potters.”

Dagmar was torn. This could be helpful in understanding what Voldemort was looking for. Draco made a really good point that Voldemort might have already dipped his toes into this field of magic.

“With this is mind, could my mum really be right that Voldemort was protecting us?” Dagmar asked. “I think if he was, it might have been some kind of tit-for-tat. You teach me this magic, and I’ll make sure you have a place in the new world.”

“If druids are so secretive about their powers, why would your mum teach him anything in the first place? She’s a secretive person, so why wasn’t that where she drew the line?”

Dagmar couldn’t answer. She pressed her lips instead while she thought.

“Maybe we ought to tell the Order just about the druid stuff,” Dagmar said. “They might know something we don’t. I have a really hard time believing that the Ministry or Dumbledore would actually want us dead. For what? Even then, the British Ministry can’t get us here. I want to believe that Dumbledore would stick up for us rather than kill us. That doesn’t make sense at all.”

“We do know him better than your mum would,” Draco conceded. “I don’t know. Do you want to risk it?”

“I’d rather try to get help to sever all ties with Voldemort,” Dagmar replied. “Maybe it’s not by blood, but there’s still something there.”


	13. Two Inductions

The sun kept teasing Narcissa in how it would near the horizon, just about set, and then rise again. Narcissa made a habit in watching it, for surely the end of the midnight sun couldn’t be long now. Wesley joined her at her nightly post.

The water lapped up on Narcissa’s toes as they sat together on the island’s southern beach. “I want to say tonight’s the night.”

Wesley chuckled. “And it has to go all the way down to count?”

“Well, that’s a sunset, right? It has to set.”

The longer Bella and the Dark Lord were gone, the more Narcissa eased into the rhythm of this place. It didn’t hurt that Wesley ended up spending more time there than away. He only really left when he needed to, and it pleased Narcissa when he returned with more food each time in order to prolong his stay. She knew he didn’t much care for this place, so it meant even more that he would tolerate it just to keep her company.

Wesley kept looking back at the forest line, where Narcissa was certain that woman watched them from. She seemed fascinated with Narcissa. She followed Narcissa around and kept her company when Wesley was gone. Had Bella not made it clear she and the woman were at odds, Narcissa would’ve suspected she was some kind of spy, or that she might hold Narcissa back if she ever tried to escape.

Narcissa’s heart skipped a little when the top of the sun disappeared below the horizon. “Look.”

“Well there you go,” Wesley said. “Time is moving here again.”

He was hardly joking, from Narcissa’s perspective. Two months of living under constant sunlight put the entire world at a standstill. Just as quickly as Narcissa’s heart lit up with happiness, it weighed back down.

“It’s going to be no time at all before it’s dark all the time,” she replied. “I’m not looking forward to that. I hope I’m out of here by then, but I sincerely doubt I will be.”

“Hard to say.”

Narcissa nodded. She also wished Wesley had more information, but that was out of both their control. He wasn’t her gaoler. Wesley had been asked to do a job on behalf of the Dark Lord, and Narcissa was lucky he went above and beyond that duty.

“I guess it’s not all bad,” Narcissa said. “I miss everyone, but you’d tell me, right, if something was going wrong with Draco?”

“Are you sure you’d want me to?” Wesley asked. “You wouldn’t be able to help him. I think Draco is capable of taking care of himself, anyway. I’m also pretty sure Theo would mention if Draco and Dagmar split up.”

“Probably.” Narcissa paused. “So you haven’t heard anything, then?”

Wesley shook his head. “Nothing.”

That was probably by design, Narcissa figured. Still, so long as Draco wasn’t suffering or lonely, then Narcissa could feel at ease. The magenta sky blurred in her vision regardless, and it wasn’t until Narcissa let out the smallest sniffle that Wesley noticed.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he told her.

“I just miss the kids,” Narcissa replied while wiping one eye with the side of her finger. “Don’t mind me.”

She regretted making things awkward with it, was all. Wesley sat quietly beside her, maybe unsure what to do other than let her get it out. It boiled up often enough that Narcissa didn’t have very many tears to shed before she levelled off again.

“You think of Dagmar like that?” Wesley asked her.

“Well. . .” Narcissa shrugged. “She’s with my only child. I wish I had more time to get to know her, but last summer I wanted to give her and Draco space as they settled in with each other. I was planning on spending more time with her after they finished at Hogwarts.”

“I get it.” Wesley nodded. “It’s hard not to look at Daphne like that, almost like she’s my own. When Theo loves her so much too and they start talking about kids and a wedding, she’s certainly some kind of family.”

“Mhm.” Narcissa dug her toes into the sand again. “I told Dagmar on her last birthday that she was the closest thing to a daughter I would ever have. She seemed touched.”

“I guess now she wouldn’t have much else for parents, not that it’s _as_ sad when she’s of-age.”

“Still.” Narcissa thought about that once in a while too. “I’m sure she misses her mum and dad. It was terrible for both of them to go so suddenly like that.”

“Hildegard’s not dead, though.”

“No, but you know what Azkaban is like. Hildegard might as well be gone. Dagmar probably won’t see her again.”

“Hard to say.”

Maybe Wesley couldn’t give her any concrete answers since he was just as much in the dark, but it also meant Narcissa wasn’t alone in uncertainty. Out of habit from her years with Lucius, Narcissa reached over to briefly squeeze Wesley’s arm. She’d retracted her touch before Wesley really had a chance to react.

“You and Lucius never thought about having more kids after Draco?” Wesley asked.

“We thought about it.”

Wesley just nodded, leaving it at that.

“What about you and Deidra?” Narcissa asked.

Wesley waved his hand, humming. “We honestly probably shouldn’t have even had one. She was never well enough, and having Theo left her weak. It also made her happy, so there’s that.”

Narcissa only ever saw that part of Deidra. Deidra had been ill before Theo. From Narcissa’s perspective, having him seemed to perk her up. Maybe, like with Narcissa’s failures to carry a second pregnancy to term, it was all about face. If Narcissa knew Deidra was having problems, she may have found a kindred soul in the matter.

“That’s good,” Narcissa said. “You must miss her.”

“Yeah. . .” Wesley’s voice grew quieter. “She was. . .yeah. Sometimes I feel lucky I knew to expect it. At the same time, there were years of dread. She’d decline, and you’d wonder if this was it. Then she’d be better for a while, but you wondered if next time would be the last. I think I would’ve rather been able to enjoy what time we _did_ have fully.”

“I understand that.”

It’d been five years now since Deidra passed. In ways it felt like it should be longer than that, since time had both dragged and flown in the meantime. It didn’t make Narcissa very confident that how she’d spent the last year of her life was temporary. One year without seeing her son could easily turn into two, then three, and then keep ticking on from there. Wesley’s circumstances were a little more permanent, though. Narcissa could at least be grateful she had hope of reunion to keep her going.

The horizon started to brighten again. As the sun came back up, the waters grew almost difficult to look at. Narcissa’s eyelids were growing heavy anyway.

“Should we head back?” she asked.

“Yeah, might as well.” Wesley got up with a grunt. “I’d like to try for some sleep while it’s still semi-dark out.”

Wesley lit his wand at the trail mouth, and his gaze darted everywhere as they headed in. Foliage brushed behind them as the woman followed. Wesley stopped at the sound of a branch snapping and turned around. His wand light washed over dark trees. A glimmer of white appeared beside one of them before the woman ducked out of view.

“What _is_ that?” Wesley asked, staring hard. “I never get a good look.”

“She looks like a woman, but Bella says she’s not. I think she just means she isn’t human.” Narcissa rested a hand on Wesley’s back to encourage him on forward. “I don’t know what she’s called.”

“Weird,” Wesley commented under his breath. “I’d like to say I’m getting used to this place, but I don’t know. It even feels different coming and going because of the fog.”

“What fog?”

“You don’t see it?”

Narcissa shook her head. “No. . .all I see is sky and then some mountains off east.”

“I can’t see the mountains through the fog, but there _are_ mountains over there.”

“This place has always looked different for me. I think Bella sees the same thing that I do. I’m not sure about the Dark Lord.”

“Wonder why,” Wesley said.

“Couldn’t tell you. So long as you’re not in danger, I guess it’s just a thing.”

“I’ll stick with you, just to be on the safe side.”

“You would anyway, wouldn’t you?” Narcissa asked.

Her smile lingered after she and Wesley shared one. It took the edge off for him as well, allowing him to focus as he navigated them back to the house. He sighed in relief when they reached it. The centre of the island was still dark with the sun down so low. Wesley extinguished his wand after lighting the torches inside.

He headed up the stairs in front of Narcissa. She followed him as far as the bathroom so that she could properly get ready for bed. Wesley had been kind enough to bring her some toiletries, and it had made a big difference in Narcissa’s level of comfort. It had taken a lot of floss and Whitening Tonic to undo what months of going without brushing her teeth had done. Narcissa would never again take such a simple routine for granted.

Wesley waited out on the landing for his turn, leaned against the railing. “Night.”

Narcissa hesitated, but took a step on toward her room with his prompt. “See you in the morning.”

When she laid down on her bed, Narcissa could hear thumping and rustling on the other side of the wall, as if the bathroom was right adjacent to her. There still remained a stretch of house between the bathroom and Narcissa’s room, but the lack of concrete spatial dimension within the house didn’t faze Narcissa anymore.

Narcissa tossed for a little while, but it was useless to try and drift off. She got back up. As she snuck along the landing, she felt like a creep as she listened for any sign Wesley was in the same boat. She couldn’t hear any sign of sleep, like light snoring or steady breath. Testing it, she gently knocked.

Wesley rustled inside. “Yeah?”

“It’s just me.” Narcissa leaned against the frame. “You’re still awake?”

More rustling was followed by a creak and padded footsteps. Narcissa stood up straighter as Wesley opened the door.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Narcissa shook her head. “Fancy a shag?”

How Narcissa managed to sound so casual, she had no idea. Her heart pounded as she waited for an answer, although she felt some kind of personal power at Wesley’s reaction. He blinked. The lines of his face seemed to deepen.

“Er,” he finally managed, “sure.”

Relief to have not been turned down drew a grin out of Narcissa. Wesley mirrored her, snorting slightly from the same anxiety. Narcissa slipped a hand into Wesley’s before the still air between them had a chance to turn awkward. He seemed uncertain, but Narcissa didn’t let him stew on it for too long before she guided him back into his room.

With the door closed and bare twilight illuminating their silhouettes, Wesley found the confidence to bring her closer. Narcissa rubbed his upper arms and shoulders. His stubble scratched her jaw. Between that and a mouth on her neck for the first time in way too long, gooseflesh trailed down Narcissa’s arms and up over her scalp.

Wesley’s arms tightened around her, and hot breath washed over Narcissa’s shoulder. If Narcissa felt so heavy after only a year without intimacy, she couldn’t imagine how hard it was hitting Wesley. Narcissa had no problem at all offering herself as a means for relief, for that was all she really sought here too. She liked Wesley—and all this time they spent together lately was lovely—but this didn’t really have a whole lot to do with that.

Because Narcissa had only ever been with one man, it jarred her whenever Wesley did something different than she was used to. Narcissa wouldn’t call it a rut since she never felt bored with Lucius, but twenty-five years was more than enough time to learn a man’s body and habits. Wesley wasn’t as much of a nuzzler as Lucius. That could’ve had to do with the urgency that quickly rose. There was a physical need, yes, but Narcissa also wanted to go through with this before she had a chance to question herself. She wondered if Wesley was thinking the same thing as he kissed her, or if his mind had just turned off.

Wesley pulled off Narcissa’s nightshirt. Other than a scramble beside the bed to made rid of everything else between them, Narcissa wasn’t even sure he really looked at her. She didn’t get much chance to look at him, either. She could feel him—maybe a little too much when discomfort accompanied his attempt to sink into her. Considering his haste, Narcissa was surprised Wesley even registered her tensing up.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Just been a while.”

Narcissa was certainly wet enough, and she wanted it. She did her best to relax through the bout of impatience that welled up with any sort of hindrance. She felt better when Wesley could give her the whole length of himself without protest. Wesley was still hesitant, even when Narcissa pulled her legs up to get them closer together. It took her gripping Wesley’s bum for him to catch her encouragement. When he’d upped the pace to something more acceptable for the mood between them, Narcissa ran her nails up his back instead.

From there it seemed over far too quickly, even if fast and hard was how Narcissa wanted it. She glowed with some sort of satisfaction to have that power over a man again. She didn’t even mind that Wesley basically tapped out after rolling off of her. Perhaps for now it was better they didn’t leave an opening to discuss it. Narcissa stayed only long enough at that point to find her knickers in the blanket’s folds. She slipped back into her nightshirt on the way to the door. After cleaning up, slipping back into bed, and finishing herself off, Narcissa’s sleep carried her into a bright morning.

The shower ran in the bathroom. Narcissa headed downstairs to use that toilet instead, and then carried on into the kitchen. Wesley had brought some good looking sausages back the last time he ran home. Narcissa started frying those along with some eggs and mushrooms while the kettle rattled up toward a boil.

One of the errant floorboards creaked over by the keeping room. Narcissa glanced up at Wesley, his body wash having already reached her nose. “Morning.”

“Hey.” He lingered before heading over to the table. “Smells good.”

“It should be,” Narcissa replied. “Never much bothered with this whole cooking thing, but I might be getting the hang of it now.”

It was more the principle of it than the science Narcissa had initially put her nose up to. Until now, she’d never in all her life been required to prepare a meal for herself. It wasn’t really all that bad, come to find.

Silence was a common thing between Narcissa and Wesley, but it wasn’t as comfortable this morning. Something remained unspoken between them. While Narcissa felt just fine about it, Wesley seemed on-edge.

She bit the bullet. “All right?”

“Yeah,” he hesitantly replied. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“We could.” Narcissa turned sideways so that she could tend to their breakfast and look at Wesley at the same time. “We’re adults, after all.”

Wesley managed a laugh. It lightened the air a little bit.

“I don’t regret it, or anything,” Narcissa said. “Do you?”

“I’m just thinking about Lucius.”

Narcissa frowned. “What about him? I left him. If I’d been able to contact an advocate from here, I wouldn’t even be a Malfoy anymore.”

“Not about you and him, but him and I,” Wesley clarified. “I’ve known him for decades. I don’t know that it’s right to be involved with his wife—or ex-wife, even.”

“Too late for that.” Narcissa put her back to Wesley again, busying herself with the mushrooms. “If it was such a problem, you should’ve said no last night.”

Wesley didn’t say anything. As much as Narcissa wanted to look at him to see what he might be thinking, she resisted the urge.

She put together two plates and brought them along with tea to the table. Wesley quietly thanked her, and silence fell again as they ate.

“If it was a problem, then it can just be a one-time thing,” Narcissa said toward the end of their meal. “We don’t even have to acknowledge it happened, if you’d rather. It’s not like anybody would ever know unless we said something.”

Wesley had his jaw in his hand as he thought, elbow on the table. He considered her when their gazes met. “I guess.”

“I’ll leave it up to you.”

Narcissa saw no harm to her own ego in putting the decision what came next on Wesley. It would be beneath her to pursue anything when he’d expressed concern. Surely Wesley must realize how silly this was. He was a Death Eater, and this was where he drew his moral line? Narcissa supposed it was different among purebloods, and especially among ranks.

They could very easily keep it to themselves. If Narcissa was going to be stuck here for an elongated period of time, it would suit her to at least have a good lay once in a while. Narcissa wasn’t in Wesley’s bed more than ten minutes last night, but she was already idly reliving it in a daydream. Wesley’s ragged breath beside her ear and the shudder running the length of his back when he finished made Narcissa want it again.

Things fell awkward between them through clean-up, so Narcissa slipped out of the house in order to take a stroll. She half-expected that Wesley would be gone when she returned, but he’d made himself comfortable with a book on one of the couches in the great room.

Since they didn’t talk a whole lot throughout the day, Narcissa figured she would be watching the combination sunset and sunrise alone. She went down there by herself, and was pleasantly surprised to hear footsteps coming up behind her later. Her mood slipped when she looked back over her shoulder.

It was Bella.

“Wesley said you’d be down here,” she said.

Narcissa looked back to where the sun started to dip below the horizon. “This is pretty much the most exciting part of my day.”

Bella snickered and took a seat beside Narcissa. “Still haven’t found anything to keep yourself busy?”

Narcissa resisted rolling her eyes. “Wesley brings books with him, so I just read them when he’s done.”

“Sounds like a nice little holiday.”

“Other than being completely isolated, it hasn’t actually been that bad.”

“See, there you go,” Bella feigned a chirpy attitude, which just came off as sarcastic. “You definitely seem less mopey than when we left.”

“I guess we both needed a break from each other.”

“Ha ha,” Bella dryly replied. “I thought having some time alone might give you the opportunity to realize how lucky you were.”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. “How lucky I am?”

“Hm.” Bella studied her with narrowed eyes. “Maybe you haven’t done much thinking after all.”

“How was your little venture?” Narcissa changed the subject. “Did you manage whatever you left for?”

“No,” Bella snipped. “You’d know if we did.”

“Okay.” Narcissa had no clue what that meant. “Are you back for a while?”

“Few weeks, maybe.” Bella pulled her cloak tighter around her as a cool wind picked up. She shivered slightly, although did her best to hide it. “It’ll be nice to sleep in a bed and get some real rest.”

“I don’t suppose you care to tell me what you were up to?”

“Why would I?”

Narcissa shrugged. “Usually when people go away, they come back with stories.”

“This wasn’t a holiday.” Bella sneered. “We didn’t come back with photos and gifts and whatever else.”

Before she could help it, Narcissa snorted. “That’s fair.”

Whatever Bella had been up to, she’d at least managed to return in a calmer state. She sat quietly with Narcissa through the sunset. Narcissa looked over once to see Bella rubbing her eyes.

“Tired?” Narcissa asked.

Bella shrugged. “It’s late.”

“I guess so.” It had to be past midnight. “What time it is wasn’t really relevant until the sun started setting again. I was all messed up thinking noon and midnight were switched for a little while.”

“How could you mess that up?” Bella raised an eyebrow. “You can tell what time it is by where the sun is in the sky.”

“I’m not used to telling time like that. After a while, I realized that the island moves.”

This information didn’t move Bella the way it had affected Narcissa when she figured it out. She’d taken the eastern trail out to the beach one day only to find that she was looking north. It had briefly disoriented Narcissa.

“Do you sit out here until the sun comes back up?” Bella asked.

“I did last night,” Narcissa replied. “It was the first time it set.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Bella thought about it before standing up. “Come on then.”

“Why do _I_ have to?”

“Just come,” Bella replied. “I shouldn’t have to explain everything to you like a child.”

Irritation developed into a pit in Narcissa’s stomach. One luxury she’d gained in Bella’s absence was the ability to make her own decisions. After debating it, she decided that ultimately it wasn’t worth making a stink over. Narcissa fell in step with Bella on the way to the path.

“Do you still not trust me?” Narcissa asked. “I was here alone for a month. I never made a run for it or anything.”

“But you _weren’t_ alone,” Bella replied. “Wesley said he was here more often than gone.”

“He still left sometimes, though. I think I handled it all responsibly enough you can let me off the leash a little when you’re around. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Bella just shrugged. She would never admit that she was wrong. Narcissa just hoped she would eventually frame it as that she was tired of watching over Narcissa.

The house was quiet but well-lit when they returned. Narcissa had a feeling the Dark Lord had made himself back at home in the room off the foyer. Bella led Narcissa upstairs. The door on the blank wall at the top had not only reappeared, but it was open now. Narcissa looked inside at the bedroom, slowing briefly until Wesley looked over from where he set his things. Bella carried on to the room Wesley had been in before. The bed was made anew. Narcissa hesitated before sitting on the edge of it. Wesley clearly hadn’t bothered to mention pinning Narcissa to it last night, or Bella would’ve lost what remained of her mind.

Narcissa contemplated Bella as she unpacked her bag. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for a small favour?”

“What kind of favour?”

“It’s been such a long time since I talked to Draco,” Narcissa said. “Would it be okay if I wrote him a letter? I haven’t talked to Wesley about it, but I think if I asked him to send it next time he goes home to London, he would.”

One side of Bella’s nose wrinkled as she grunted.

“Could I just send him one without expecting a reply?” Narcissa tried to bargain. “I just want to tell him I’m okay, basically, and not to worry if he is. I don’t care if you read the letter first and make sure it’s all right.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bella said. “I’ll ask the Dark Lord tomorrow to see what he thinks. Any hint of a code or anything in there, and you’d lose the opportunity. You know that, right?”

Narcissa nodded. “I know. Believe me, Bella, I’m settled here. I’ve accepted that this is what it is. I just want to reach out and let him know I think about him and love him and all that.”

“We’ll see.”

Narcissa didn’t dare push it. She knew she was lucky to get so much as a maybe. Bella might look at it as something she could dangle over Narcissa’s head if she misbehaved, but Narcissa didn’t have any intentions on doing that anyway. She never spared a thought toward trying to weasel her way off the island by cozying up to Wesley, or learning to swim so that she could make it her own way. She’d probably learned enough here that she could survive in the woods as she made her way back south, but what would the point be when the Fidelius Charm was cast over her? The only real motivation to leave right now would be to escape this place. Narcissa was well-fed here. She had a warm bed every night. Her social needs were being met. Other than Bella being annoying and occasionally cruel, Narcissa wasn’t being hurt. Toeing the line for a while would get her back to her old life a lot quicker than acting like a rebellious teenager would.

When Bella shooed her, Narcissa returned to her room to think about what she would write. The idea of sending a letter to Draco had been something Narcissa used during Bella’s absence to try and pass the time. Now that she might have the opportunity, she needed to organize her mind. If Bella gave her the go-ahead and Wesley took it with him, Bella wouldn’t be able to change her mind once he was gone. Wesley might have to leave sooner than expected, now that Bella and the Dark Lord returned. The amount of food in the house wouldn’t last all of them very long.

That was the first thing Narcissa tended to when she woke up. She took mental stock down in the kitchen and filed the food into meals.

Bella found her there, looking a bit less exhausted on this side of sleep. She took a seat at the table.

“Tea?” Narcissa asked.

“Sure.” Bella yawned. “What’re you making?”

“Nothing yet, but I can throw something on if you’re hungry,” Narcissa replied. “I’m just figuring out our food situation, now there are four back under the roof. Wesley should probably run today if we don’t want to be short.”

“Oh yeah.”

“We could make do if we had to,” Narcissa said. “That woman showed me to some berry bushes, and there’s a man in a little pond that gave me a fish once.”

“And you ate it?” Bella grew snippy.

“You ate some of the berries, by the looks of it.” Narcissa had noticed that some of the tarts she’d made went missing overnight. “Unless the Dark Lord snuck some.”

“The Dark Lord does not _sneak_ things in the kitchen of the house he’s hosting you in!”

“It’s just a figure of speech,” Narcissa replied. “Relax, I’m not calling him a thief.”

“You’d better not be.”

“Would you prefer bacon or sausages?”

Narcissa got started on the bacon at Bella’s grumbled request, filling the house with a smell that drew Wesley and the Dark Lord in. Narcissa tried not to act too overly fascinated by the Dark Lord just sitting at the table (the head, of course) with a couple of his followers, as if he was somebody normal.

Before she came here, Narcissa had never seen the Dark Lord eat. She never thought about him doing things like sleeping or relaxing. He mentioned taking a walk around the island after breakfast. Narcissa cleaned up after breakfast and grew excited when Bella brought her some parchment, but Narcissa was only meant to make a list for Wesley. He wouldn’t be taking a letter with him this time.

Wesley asked Narcissa if she wanted to walk with him to the beach when it came time for him to leave. He weathered all of Bella’s jokes about how the woods scared him before she finally let them go. Wesley remained cagey. He wouldn’t break the silence between him and Narcissa until the forest was oppressively quiet around them.

“I had a thought last night, something we ought to talk about,” Wesley said. “It’s probably the stupidest thing to have forgotten, but I never even thought about something like Natalise Potion before we—you know.”

Narcissa nodded, although she wasn’t too concerned about it. The reproductive problems she and Lucius experienced were definitely on her end of things. They’d had no issue at all conceiving Draco. It was afterward that things never took again.

“What do you want to do, then?” Narcissa asked.

“Would you be offended if I brought you something that would undo anything we might have done? I didn’t want to just show up with it.”

“If you bring it, I’ll take it.”

Wesley nodded mindlessly, perhaps surprised that she didn’t go off or turn it into a row. Narcissa would be lying if she denied feeling a little sad to face her infertility again. It was hard not to think, after the handful of years she and Lucius struggled, that Narcissa ought to take the opportunity if it arose again. The time was past, though.

“You really don’t mind?” Wesley asked.

“Does this look like a place for a baby?” Narcissa replied. “We’re not together, either. It’s best to be reasonable.”

“Okay.” Wesley hesitated. “That’s not how I wanted to say goodbye to you.”

“How did you want to say goodbye?”

“Anything but that, really.”

They fell quiet again as they came up on the beach. Wesley busied himself double-checking he had everything he needed.

“See you when you get back,” Narcissa said as Wesley mounted his broom.

He finally managed a smile. “See you.”

Narcissa watched him go until his form shrunk to a black dot in the distance. Even though there were still two people here on the island with her, Narcissa felt lonelier than ever. Rather than risk being called mopey again at the house, Narcissa stayed out on the beach.

She spotted something small and black in her peripheral vision as she sat and watched the waves. The Dark Lord came her way. Narcissa assumed that he would take one of the paths between them back to the house, but he kept on.

He paused in his tracks when Narcissa stood up. She felt a little uneasy, especially given the way he studied her from under his drawn hood. She wondered if he burnt easily from the sun, or if he drew his hood out of habit.

“My Lord.” The words felt weird on Narcissa’s tongue, and she didn’t much take either to bowing her head. “I was hoping for a chance to speak with you.”

“What about?”

Since he let her get that far, Narcissa came up closer. She stopped when he leaned back a little with proximity. “I wanted to apologize for all the extra trouble I’ve caused you. I had time to think while you were away, and I realized just how wrapped up I was in my own personal affairs. I’ve never had to exercise the same kind of discipline as your followers because my role in supporting Lucius aligned with your goals. I lost perspective.”

“It isn’t your fault Lucius is in Azkaban. He did what he could to prevent it before we were overwhelmed. I think seeing Erik die threw him off-balance.”

Narcissa’s stomach clenched. She hadn’t thought about Lucius witnessing that. “Probably. He held Erik in high esteem.”

“Yes.”

“Not that I could ever dream to fill the hole Lucius left,” Narcissa said, “but I would like in some form to make myself useful. I’m not blind to the fact my family has disappointed you lately. I would like to begin repaying that debt and regaining your trust by humbly requesting your mark.”

Narcissa averted her gaze as a show of respect. She could feel the Dark Lord considering her.

“To be a branded Death Eater takes time and sacrifice,” the Dark Lord told her. “I only allow those who have unwavering faith to be close to me.”

Narcissa nodded.

“You have stood by Lucius right from when he first joined my ranks,” the Dark Lord continued. “You have allowed me usage of your home and supported my work in a secondary manner whenever you could. You have perpetuated the beliefs and moral code that will become commonplace in the new world we’re all trying to create.”

“Yes,” Narcissa confirmed.

“I’ll oblige your request,” the Dark Lord said. “Give me your left arm.”

Heart pounding, Narcissa stepped closer and rolled up the left sleeve of her cloak. The Dark Lord extracted his wand from a pocket in his robe. His free hand grasped Narcissa’s wrist, and she was momentarily distracted by the image of red lines like lightning running up his forearm. He pressed the tip of his wand into Narcissa’s forearm, and she suppressed a gasp at sharp pain. What looked like black ink pushed in under her skin and crawled up toward her elbow, forming the familiar picture of a skull and snake along the way. Her hand throbbed from how tightly the Dark Lord held her in place. Narcissa started to sweat. The pain didn’t stop when the Dark Lord retracted his wand. The entire area throbbed, swelling from irritation.

“To be clear,” the Dark Lord said to gain her attention again, “it will take time before I trust you with any tasks. You have regressed lately. While I acknowledge the steps you are taking to come back, I reserve myself as the authority on judging when you are ready.”

Narcissa bowed. “I understand. Thank you, my Lord.”

* * *

The last Friday in July happened to be Harry’s birthday. Other than Ron wishing him of it before they both left for work, it didn’t feel like a particularly special day. Harry was used to having his birthday wide open, not spent in an office looking forward to the weekend and to the first Order meeting since mid-June.

There hadn’t been one with full attendance since the day Malfoy and Ramstad joined over Easter. A full great room at Malfoy Manor caused Harry pause as he arrived straight from the office along with some other Aurors. He headed over to Ron, Hermione, and Viktor. Viktor looked as surly as ever, so it was hard to tell if he was excited for his first meeting. His brow came up when he took Harry’s hand.

“Settling in all right?” Harry asked him.

“Da, just fine,” he replied. “It helps to have had July for that before I start work Monday. How has the Ministry been for you?”

“Oh, good, you know.”

Through the course of conversation, Harry kept an eye on the fireplace to see who else would show up today. He had half a thought that Malfoy and Ramstad might not, but he was proven wrong when they stepped out. They looked around while brushing soot off their clothes, and ended up coming over to where Harry was.

“Hey,” Malfoy greeted them all.

“Hello,” Hermione returned it before placing a hand on Viktor’s arm. “Viktor, this is my friend Dagmar I was telling you about, and this is Draco Malfoy.”

“Ah.” Viktor shook both their hands. A small flutter of pleasure visited Harry that Viktor didn’t remember Malfoy from when he schmoozed up to him during the Triwizard Tournament. Malfoy’s cheeks went a little pink, so perhaps he realized it as well. “This must be your home, then.”

“Er—family estate,” Malfoy replied. “Dagmar and I live in Norway now.”

They hadn’t been there long yet, but Harry registered a slight change in the way Malfoy spoke. His Rs started to harden a little bit.

As six o’clock neared, everyone gravitated into the drawing room. It felt weird to sit in the same place that so many Death Eater meetings had taken place. As Harry took a seat between Ron and Hermione, he wondered whose chair it used to be.

“Thank you all for coming,” Dumbledore greeted them all.

The meeting went much like the smaller ones since Easter all had. There hadn’t been any local activities that suggested Voldemort was active again. It was worth touching base, Harry supposed, but on his birthday especially, he didn’t much see the point.

His curiosity piqued at the end, however, when Dumbledore addressed him over the sound of scraping chairs. Harry moved against the stream of exiting people as he came up to the front, where Kingsley waited with Dumbledore. Harry got really curious when Malfoy and Ramstad came up as well.

The last person out closed the drawing room door behind them. Dumbledore gestured at the chairs closest to the one he’d claimed. “Take a seat.”

A small wrinkle in Kingsley’s brow made Harry think he wasn’t the only one this was getting sprung on. Malfoy and Ramstad were too practiced at neutral facial expressions for Harry to tell where they stood on it.

Dumbledore looked at them when they’d all sat again. “You had something you wanted to talk to us about?”

“Ja,” Ramstad said. “I had a discussion with my dean of medicine at Olaf Kyrre the day after we went to Azkaban. It ended up being potentially relevant to what Voldemort might be looking for. I thought it worth sharing in case it means something to any of you.”

Harry leaned forward a bit in his seat.

“I had to claim a whole bunch of stuff to assess my fitness to provide care,” Ramstad carried on. “They already knew about my parents being Death Eaters and about when I got in trouble in Nice last summer, but I also told him about speaking Parseltongue and not knowing anything about my personal history before 1985. The dean suggested my mum might have been a druid.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Harry asked while Dumbledore and Kingsley thought on it.

“Meaning basically she lived off the grid,” Ramstad replied. “Druids hide from the magical community the way the magical community hides from Muggles. She wouldn’t have been registered with the Ministry when she was born. She wouldn’t have registered _me_. She wouldn’t go to school. She might not have even had a last name before she married my dad.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said. “I wish that had occurred to me. I don’t believe there are many druids left in Britain. If there are, well, how would we know about them other than the history of how they’ve been treated? Historically, the wizarding community has not been so kind.”

“That’s what Arne said,” Ramstad replied. “He said that because druids hold a certain level of power over nature, that they’re usually either exploited or misunderstood.”

“Power over nature like what?” Harry asked. He was having a hard time imagining what the magical community would need that they didn’t already have.

“Mortality, for one,” Dumbledore was the one to answer, “which we have long known Voldemort to seek the cure for, so to speak.”

As Harry thought about it, his stomach curdled. “Lucius said Voldemort already had that power, but was looking for something more ideal. Do you think that’s what he meant? That Voldemort is already immortal?”

“Perhaps tentatively so, if such a middle ground exists,” Dumbledore said.

Harry looked back at Ramstad. “So what kinds of ways can druids do that?”

“I have no idea.” She shrugged. “I can’t think of anyone in my life that’s connected to my mum like that. I’m meeting my uncle—my dad’s brother—on Sunday, so maybe he might know something. If I could find my mum’s family or where she used to live, they might have even seen what Voldemort, my mum, Magnus, and whoever else were up to.”

They couldn’t get much further than that, but Harry appreciated that Ramstad came forward with it. Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed that Ramstad probably would’ve kept it secret if she didn’t have a personal stake. Everybody wanted to know where they came from.

Ron sized Harry up in the great room. “What was that about?”

“Tell you later.”

Harry apparated back to Grimmauld Place. After how quiet it had been since the end of June, some life bustling down in the kitchen was a nice change. Mrs. Weasley had skipped the Order meeting in order to get going on Harry’s birthday dinner. Hermione, Viktor, and Mr. Weasley had already made it here, as had Ginny, Fred, and George. Ginny was sulky, since her mum still forbade her from attending Order meetings until she was of-age in a few weeks.

“Don’t even worry about it.” Fred clapped her on the back. “You’ll get a couple under your belt and then you’ll do like us and skip the odd one if you know it’s going to be dull.”

“You said you were working late,” Mrs. Weasley piped up from beside the stove. Fred cast her a knowing look that made Mrs. Weasley press her lips and turn her back so that Ginny couldn’t see her smile.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Mr. Weasley wished him with a clasp of the shoulder when Harry sat down. “Eighteen already! Boy, do the years go fast.”

It was just them for the evening. Harry had a couple other people he’d considered inviting, but he preferred a smaller affair. Everyone here felt like the only family Harry actually had. It was easier to relax in such a tight-knit group.

Dinner was a spread of all Harry’s favourites, as was dessert. The twins stepped out first since they had to open shop in the morning (“Don’t party too late, Ron,” George teased him), followed by Hermione and Viktor. Harry could tell Ginny tried to hold out just in case some sort of Order business slipped, but Mrs. Weasley cast her a pointed look when she stood.

“Oh, Ginny,” Harry said, feigning that he’d just remembered something. “Could I have a quick word before you go home?”

“She should probably come with us—”

“It’s not about Order business,” Harry told Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley and Ginny shared a look. With it, Mrs. Weasley just shrugged. “Don’t be long, then.”

Harry headed up the kitchen stairs with Ginny in tow. Her curiosity seemed to grow as they climbed to the third floor. They came to a stop outside Harry’s room.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I was going to catch you about this after you’d been inducted, but this works just fine,” Harry said. “We should talk about Luca Parasca.”

Ginny’s curiosity solidified into seriousness. “What about him?”

“We watched him all last year, and nothing ever stood out.” Harry folded his arms. “You had classes with him, so you probably noticed he’s nothing like Tom Riddle was, personality-wise. Right?”

“Other than looking like him, no.” Ginny shook her head. “He was the complete opposite.”

“Because of that, everyone else has written him off. I just don’t know that I’m ready to. Ron and Hermione blow me off if I bring it up, but you would take it seriously with me, right?”

“For sure. Is there something you want me to do?”

“Here’s the thing.” Harry glanced at the stairs to make sure Mrs. Weasley didn’t sneak up to check in. “If he’s up to something or something’s off, last year wasn’t a good time to do anything. I won’t be at Hogwarts anymore. You’re going to be the only Order member there. I half-wonder if someone is waiting to make a move until Dumbledore and I were separated. Not that I don’t think Dumbledore could defend himself, but some kind of means for back-up would be handy. My fireplace here is connected to Hogwarts. If trouble ever arose, I could be there pretty quickly with Aurors or something.”

“So you want me to keep an eye on Luca?”

“Just a sec’.”

Harry dipped into his room and rooted through his old school trunk. He hadn’t bothered to unload it yet. Pressed flat up against one side was the Marauder’s Map. Harry brought it back out to the hallway.

“I won’t need this anymore.” Harry held it out to Ginny. “You remember it, right? And how to use it?”

“I solemnly swear I’m up to no good,” Ginny said.

“Yep.”

Ginny unfolded it to study the currently-blank parchment. Despite her seriousness, she looked a little excited. “So what _do_ you think he’s up to? He really doesn’t seem the type to do anything, does he? Were it not for Tom. . .I wouldn’t have ever pinned him as someone to look out for.”

“Us neither,” Harry said. “I don’t know. It’s really hard to accept anything like a coincidence. Hermione says I only look at it that way because of things like the prophecy, but that’s the thing. When things like prophecies exist, then how can coincidences?”

“No, I get it.” Ginny nodded. “I’m glad you’re taking it seriously. I think you and me were the only ones that _really_ grasped what that whole thing was like with Tom’s diary. If that’s what You-Know-Who was like as a teenager, how could Luca really be any different if it’s all just a manipulation? You-Know-Who fooled everybody but Dumbledore for _years_ when he was our age. How could they say Luca isn’t capable of the same thing?”

“Exactly.”

Harry was so relieved to _finally_ find someone that would take this seriously with him. Ron and Hermione thought Harry ought to focus on finding Magnus Norheim, and that’s exactly what Harry would do. Ginny wanted to be involved in the Order, so Harry would delegate this task to her.

A sly smile came over Ginny. “I thought you said this wasn’t about Order business.”

“It’s not, technically.” Harry shrugged. “The Order isn’t really doing anything about Luca, and you’re not a member. As far as your mum can say, we’re discussing something outside of it.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“I actually thought you were pulling me aside to ask after Pansy or something.”

Harry blinked. Because he’d been so busy with work and otherwise preoccupied, he hadn’t spared Parkinson much of a thought aside from whenever he was bored at home. . .or a dull moment came around the office. . .or whenever he saw a couple somewhere. . .

“What about her?” Harry turned nervous.

“You two hit it off a little, didn’t you?” Ginny pushed his shoulder, grin reminiscent of the twins. “Pansy was disappointed you never went back.”

Harry cursed his warm cheeks. “I didn’t have a reason to, after my suit was finished.”

“Did you want to?”

Harry’s tongue caught against the prospect of confirmation. Even if Ginny knew Pansy fancied Harry, Harry was still hesitant about creating an opening in that part of his life.

“I had a feeling this would happen.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re both too shy for your own good. Look, I was organizing a birthday party for all my friends, and I want you to come. It’s not just going to be girls, so don’t feel like I’m sandbagging you. Seamus and Dean will be there too.”

“Okay.” Harry wouldn’t mind catching a pint or something with them. It still made him nervous as all hell about seeing Parkinson in a social setting.

“Just don’t bring Ron,” Ginny said in a tone that reminded Harry slightly of Mrs. Weasley. “I don’t want him around my friends. Fred and George have been telling me all about the little reputation he’s making for himself in Diagon Alley.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, so that’s true?”

Being attached to the joke shop held a certain weight in the social world of Diagon Alley. Ron had mentioned going around with a couple different women after work as explanation why, on some evenings, Harry beat him home.

“Apparently.” Ginny shrugged. “He can do whatever he wants there, but he can leave anyone I’m close to alone.”

“Fair enough.”


	14. Past in the Present

An anxious Dagmar apparated down to Den Sultne Jotunn at quarter to nine, Sunday morning. Her gaze swept the inn’s restaurant in search for a familiar face. Dagmar’s stomach flopped weirdly when she saw someone that looked similar to her dad looking back at her in mirrored recognition. She smiled as she approached, and Uncle Håkon stood up. Dagmar thought he would just want to shake her hand, but he pulled her into a tight hug instead. It caught Dagmar unexpectedly in the throat.

“Good to see you,” Uncle Håkon said when he relinquished Dagmar enough to look at her again. “I can’t believe how much you look like your mum. Herregud.”

Dagmar chuckled. “Thankfully nobody’s mistaken me for her yet and written the British Ministry to say my mum escaped Azkaban.”

Uncle Håkon’s smile flickered. Maybe it was a tasteless joke.

“Sit, anyway,” he told her. “I’m glad we were finally able to make our schedules match up enough to catch a coffee together. Summers are supposed to be relaxing, aren’t they?”

“You’d think so.” Dagmar took the chair across from where Uncle Håkon had been sitting. “I thought I wouldn’t end up doing a whole lot before I start work tomorrow. We moved here at the end of June, but I don’t know where July went.”

“Welcome to adulthood.” Håkon lightened up with a laugh. “You and your partner were probably getting used to living together, weren’t you? That’s quite an adjustment.”

“I didn’t find it hard at all.” Dagmar shrugged. “Draco and I get along really well. We share the load of having a home together.”

“That’s still a sort of adjustment. Doesn’t mean you were in each other’s way.”

Dagmar smiled warmly, distracted briefly by a server coming over to offer her coffee.

“How’s he adjusting to Norway?” Håkon asked. “Not homesick yet?”

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Dagmar replied. “I think it helps we go back often enough. It doesn’t feel very far away. We speak English at home and eat British food half the time. He’s been dipping his toes in by getting to know his new coworkers. Two are Scandinavian, and he’s comfortable speaking Norwegian. There’s an American, so Draco has the option of speaking English with him if he wants. The Russian woman is the most foreign to everything. I think it helps Draco feel more at home if he’s helping someone else integrate. It gives him some sense of authority on the local culture. It’s weird, I’m a little bit more of an outsider than him since everyone except me at the hospital went to Kapsferd together.”

“Hogwarts treated you all right, though?”

Dagmar nodded. “I really enjoyed it there. Of course I had my fit back before I started that Mum and Dad weren’t sending me to Kapsferd, but I got over it. The language barrier was a bit of a struggle. I had a really good friend that helped me overcome that.”

“One good friend is all anyone really needs.”

The way Håkon regarded Dagmar with crinkled eyes and lines around his mouth compelled Dagmar to pause the conversation with a sip of her coffee. Håkon’s hair was a bit greyer than Dagmar’s dad’s and darker blond otherwise, but he had the same cowlick.

“Sorry,” Dagmar said when Håkon noticed the lull. “You just really remind me of him. I hadn’t seen him since last summer, and I’ve been really struggling to make it all feel real.”

“So have we,” Håkon reassured her with a pat on the forearm. “When it’s so sudden like that, and then with everything that came out about him afterward. . .it’s really hard to feel like that was really _him_ that died.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed. “I get that. One of my coworkers said he shared a dorm with Påske, and that he had a hard time with it too.”

“He wrote me about it a couple times.” Håkon toyed briefly with his bottom lip. “Is it bad form if I ask you about it? We’ve all had questions about how this could’ve happened. It just didn’t make sense. Erik never showed any signs he would get involved with something like that, or sympathize with someone like Voldemort. We all thought he was just doing the manor work, maintaining accounts and whatnot. Everything seemed all right from our end of things.”

“I don’t know how many answers I can give. I don’t know a whole lot myself,” Dagmar prefaced with. “It’s honestly really infuriating to me. I never understood why my parents got involved, and the answers I _have_ gotten don’t really explain anything at all. In ways, they actually make it worse.”

A shadow formed under Håkon’s brow. “Like how?”

“They didn’t want to be involved,” Dagmar told him. “I spoke with Professor Dumbledore about it, and that was the impression he got. Dumbledore collaborated with the Auror office to give them an out. Mum and Dad couldn’t take it for whatever reason, or believed they couldn’t.”

“So. . .” Håkon’s furrow deepened and his gaze darted. “Could you back up a little? How exactly did all of this start? I almost wondered if it had something to do with why your dad volunteered to move to Britain in the first place when your grandpa died. Not to put your mum down or anything, but we never really knew a whole lot about her. We have no idea what she might have gotten him into, ideology-wise.”

“I don’t know a whole lot about my mum either,” Dagmar admitted. “I didn’t know anything was off until she and Dad got involved with Voldemort. Ever since then, things have slowly gotten stranger. My mum _did_ prefer to spend her time with purebloods. When we lived here in Bergen, I didn’t think much about it because it wasn’t something ever discussed. Our family friends were just our family friends, and I didn’t realize until later that they were all pureblooded. They were also the exact opposite of purity supremacists. So I wonder if my mum just blended herself in.”

Håkon hummed in thought. “She might have. She told us when we first met her that she was raised in Britain. With everything going on there—what’s _still_ going on—you kind of wonder what side people fall on when you first meet them.”

“My mum told you she was raised in Britain?”

“Was she not?”

Despite the coffee beginning to perk Dagmar up, she felt suddenly tired. “The longer this has all gone on, the more clear it is my mum has a complete allergy to the truth.”

“She told us she attended Hogwarts when we mentioned none of us ever saw her at Kapsferd,” Håkon said. “Her Norwegian was shaky, so it made sense. We assumed that was why you went to Hogwarts too, that and. . .well, possibly she didn’t want you going to school with your cousins.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.” Håkon scratched his forehead. “Family fallout.”

Dagmar ran her thumb over her coffee mug. “I’ve wondered lately why we never talked to anyone else in the family. I don’t even know who my mum’s family is. What I gathered is that everyone passed already. Never met my grandparents, never met an aunt that she mentioned I had. Because I was gone to school most of the year, I never realized until just recently how isolated we were. My mum’s English was just as shaky as mine when we moved to the manor, and she certainly didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

Håkon looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be surprised or not.

“Dumbledore said he met with my parents about me going to Hogwarts instead of Kapsferd,” Dagmar said. “He would’ve definitely remembered my mum if she attended there.”

“Ja.” Håkon’s gaze stuck to the tabletop. “It wasn’t something we questioned. We didn’t think she would have a reason to lie about that. Why _would_ she?”

“I got a potential lead that she might have been a druid,” Dagmar told him. “It seems promising. Secrecy apparently comes heavy with that.”

Håkon thought on it. “Hm, ja, that might make sense. I just wish Erik hadn’t gotten himself involved. Er—no offence. I know they’re still your parents.”

“None taken,” Dagmar assured him. “We were happy before Voldemort came back. I thought so, anyway. _I_ was happy. It took me right by surprise when Death Eaters started coming into our home.”

“You said your mum was more comfortable with purebloods as company,” Håkon said. “If she believed that part of Voldemort’s message, was it really a surprise?”

“I still thought that our family friends being pureblooded was just a coincidence.” Dagmar shrugged. “Not all of our family friends were like that. My mum had a friend named Luzia for sure that wasn’t. Well—not to the extent that she was a Death Eater, anyway. It’s an old tradition amongst British purebloods to arrange their childrens’ marriages so that the bloodlines stay pure. Mum and Dad set me up with Luzia’s son, Blaise. Luzia cared enough to uphold that, but Blaise didn’t share those views on blood purity.”

Håkon blinked. “They picked who you would marry?”

“Sort of. I always had the choice, and I liked Blaise. It ended up not happening since my parents changed their mind last summer and asked me to consider going with Draco instead. For what it’s worth, I would’ve chosen to be with Draco either way based on how we get on. As far as my parents are concerned, I think they were making it look like they doubled down on staying close to the Death Eaters. They might have been pressured by Draco’s father or maybe even Voldemort himself if he cared about stuff like that, but I don’t know. It had no bearing on Draco and I’s relationship beside the fact we had to navigate our exit very carefully. Draco’s mum wrote him a letter when she had to run after Dad died that said something like my mum knew I had no sympathies with the Death Eaters. Mrs. Malfoy approved the change because she hoped Draco would get out with me. But—sorry, I know it’s not relevant. There’s just a lot to unpack.”

“I see that,” Håkon replied. “Malfoy, that name was already familiar when I saw they were involved. We knew the Malfoys growing up. Dad was on terms with Abraxas, since they were close to the same age. Played together a few years before going their separate ways for school, but corresponded a lot when I was young since our manors weren’t too far apart. Didn’t know Lucius that well, but I remember him. He was older than all of us. I always thought he was a bit full of himself.”

Dagmar snorted, bowing her head with it. “Draco takes a bit after him for that, but I just think it’s sweet. He has a lot of reasons to be proud of himself. It’s more self-confidence now than arrogance.”

“I think your dad mentioned in a letter after you all moved to Britain that Lucius was helping him sort out how the family business was handled,” Håkon said. “Dad didn’t leave a whole lot for instructions. Wasn’t much for writing.”

“That could be how they all met,” Dagmar replied. “Mum and Narcissa—Draco’s mum—got on pretty all right. We went to a good number of functions at their manor house, and they came to ours a lot. I always thought that was why they ended up getting stuck in all that mess. Mr. Malfoy claimed he was under the Imperius Curse back when Voldemort first fell. When Voldemort came back, Mr. Malfoy got right back in with him. Other family friends did too. Voldemort isn’t someone you say no to, apparently. If he asks you to join, you either do or die.

“That might have been the case for Dad, but I don’t know.” Dagmar sighed and looked out the window. “There were some Death Eaters Professor Dumbledore helped out, and they’d met my parents. They said they had a feeling there might have been history with my mum and Voldemort. They might have known each other back before Voldemort disappeared in ’81. I was definitely curious to know what _you_ know about my mum before 1985, because nobody can find her before that.”

Håkon chewed on his bottom lip as he considered Dagmar. “Ja, we knew her.”

“Dumbledore is trying to learn what he can about her background, especially now because my mum was probably helping Voldemort with something to do with druidic magic. If we can figure out what it is, we can stop him. My mum won’t say anything, though. I’ve been to Azkaban to try, and she’s as tight-lipped as ever.”

“Oh, kiddo, you’re really putting me on the spot here.” Håkon rubbed his mouth. “You’re sure it’s important?”

Dagmar nodded, but grew nervous at Håkon’s caginess.

“Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so I guess I might as well just get it out of the way. Erik wasn’t your father.”

Despite awareness of the possibility, Dagmar’s heart still sunk. “You know that for sure?”

“It’s why the family all fell out with your parents.” Håkon studied Dagmar carefully. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

“I knew there was a chance after Dumbledore said my mum didn’t go to Kapsferd. I hoped he was, though. He was definitely my dad.”

To Dagmar’s horror, her eyes burned and her vision blurred. There were a lot of things Dagmar saw as strange about her life, but her relationship with her dad wasn’t something that changed with hindsight. Her dad never looked at her as if she was anything but his.

“I’m sorry,” Håkon said. Dagmar couldn’t look at him, focused instead on the wharf. “I wish I didn’t have to tell you that. For what it’s worth, we all recognize that Erik took you in as his own. He was a good man like that.”

“He was.”

Before Dagmar could feel anymore embarrassed at the sudden swell of emotion, she picked up the napkin from underneath her cutlery and dabbed her eyes. Dagmar had debated if she should wear makeup or not today, but had decided to risk it. She didn’t think anything Uncle Håkon had to say would move her that way, since Dagmar wasn’t really much of a crier.

“I really miss him,” she said when the worst of it had passed. “I miss who he used to be before he became a Death Eater. It’s been hard to grieve him at all because it already felt like I’d lost him so long ago.”

“Ja.” Håkon cleared his throat, similarly uncomfortable. His blue eyes were a little brighter when Dagmar glanced at him. “We all hoped to get him back too.”

“So. . .what happened in the first place, then?”

Håkon cradled his jaw, elbow hard on the table as he gathered his thoughts. “Well, I guess it starts back in. . .oh, must have been ’83, maybe ’84—nei, it was ’83, because Påske was old enough to learn to read and write. Erik was living up in Tromsø, so we didn’t see him a lot. He came home at Christmas that year all excited. He told us he had a kid he’d just learned about, said he’d dated a woman briefly when he first moved there. They met back up, and turned out she’d had a baby by him: you.

“We thought, okay. . .that’s all right, it happens.” Håkon shrugged. “We met you for the first time at Easter. You were cute as a niffler, of course, and Erik completely adored you. Your mum, though. . .I still don’t like to say anything bad about her, especially to you, but you don’t seem under any illusions about how she’s a little off. It didn’t feel like she wanted to be there, almost like she was scared of us. We got through the holiday all right, but it really bugged Agneta. She had a feeling right away that maybe your mum was lying about you being Erik’s. Your mum didn’t talk about any sort of family when asked beyond saying she didn’t have any living relatives, and it didn’t seem like she came from a lot. Agneta wondered if it was about money since our family is quite wealthy.

“Your dad wouldn’t hear the possibility when Agneta brought it up,” Håkon said. “He was extremely offended by it. We didn’t have much contact with him after that except for a very uncomfortable Christmas before he wrote to let us know him and Hildegard had bought a house in Bergen. Never got invited there, and barely heard anything again until the next spring when your dad said they’d gotten married. That hurt to miss, but I guess it was just a quick thing at the Ministry with a couple of their friends as witnesses. I was trying to be patient with your dad. Maybe he figured if you’d all established a life, it would make it more clear that the family was legitimate. Agneta was really pissed off about it, though. Erik’s the baby of us, and she didn’t like the idea at all that he might be manipulated. She didn’t like that your mum was keeping him from us. She was really scared your mum might somehow use you to hurt your dad.

“Spring after that, your dad finally reached out to me. We sent owls back and forth a bit before I invited him to go on that fishing trip down Oslofjord.” Håkon pointed with his thumb in no specific direction. “He was up for it. Your mum wasn’t, I guess, so just you, me, him, Påske, and Viglaug went. Just me, Erik, and our kids. We all had a good time. It was nice to finally have some kind of relationship with my brother again, and you kids all seemed to have fun once you got over being shy.

“The problem was Agneta.” A shadow passed over Håkon’s face. “I don’t blame your dad for never forgiving her. Now that your dad is gone, I’m struggling with it again. Before we left on our trip, she took some hair or something of yours and got some kind of test done. It came back saying you weren’t related to us.

“Agneta told your dad. I’d _never_ seen him that angry. It wasn’t like him.” Håkon’s face lengthened. “Your dad couldn’t believe the gall of Agneta to do that. She thought she was doing it for his benefit, but your dad said he already knew. He knew the whole time that you weren’t his, but he told us you were because he didn’t think we’d accept you and your mum otherwise. Can’t say I really blamed him for thinking that, given the circumstances.

“He thought I was in on it. Figured that was why I asked you guys to come fishing, so that Agneta could get close enough to you to get what she needed for the test. Never saw you again after that. Never heard from your dad unless it was related to family business. I thought things might change after Dad died, but no. I tried. Your dad wasn’t receptive to it, so I just let things be. By that point, I was used to giving him space. On we went and then eight years later I read about him in the paper, dead.”

Dagmar had gone slightly numb as she tried to process everything Håkon told her. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“Your cousins never knew about it either, as you all shouldn’t have.” Håkon hastily dabbed at one of his eyes. “Agneta was at least respectful enough to keep you kids out of it, especially you. You clearly admired Erik, and it wasn’t any of our will to let you be hurt by it. You were probably the only thing keeping Agneta from making a full-on case against your mum to your dad. It only made Agneta dislike your mum more because it made you look like a tool she was using.”

“I don’t think I was.” Defensiveness started to rise in Dagmar’s chest. “We were normal, how I remember it. My parents grossed me out all the time because of how obvious they were about loving each other. They loved me too. It wasn’t until Voldemort that things changed. We weren’t fake.”

“I’m sure that’s the truth,” Håkon reassured her. “It’s just sad that it took time to prove that. I wish Agneta had left it alone. In a way, I get it. If your dad didn’t know you weren’t his biological child and he was in a bad situation, it could’ve been something he’d want to know. Even then, Agneta should’ve weighed it against other potential outcomes. Your dad was happy. I don’t know why she had to care so much that he was using his part of the family money to support you and your mum. It had literally no effect on her.”

As Dagmar sat in front of Håkon, a gross feeling spread through her. Even if Håkon’s account centred around her mum, it would take more than Dagmar possessed not to see how her mere existence had fractured the Ramstad family. She wasn’t even related to them. Other than seeing Dagmar as their estranged brother’s child and then meeting her less than a handful of times, she couldn’t possibly mean anything at all to them.

“So. . .” Dagmar’s voice shook. “I don’t really get why you’d want to meet me now. Sounds like I was a lot more trouble than I was worth.”

“You’re my niece.”

Dagmar was failing to see how. They’d never had any kind of a relationship to suggest that, and they didn’t have blood to fall back on either as a building block. Dagmar had contributed nothing positive to this man’s life. She entered it one day and ended up being a driving wedge.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” Håkon said. “None of us would _ever_ blame you for what happened. If things had gone a different way, we might have all been all right. Your dad cut us off because he did what he thought was best for his family.”

“What are we, then?”

“You’re my niece,” Håkon repeated. “You’re my brother’s daughter. You’re family. Always were, always will be. Blood doesn’t mean anything. It didn’t to your dad, and doesn’t to me.”

Dagmar nodded, but her mind had ground to a halt in its ability to process anything new. Håkon fidgeted before taking a sip of his coffee.

“It’s a lot to process,” Dagmar eventually said.

“I know,” Håkon replied. “We all screwed up. I’d understand if you walk away from this conversation wanting nothing to do with us. I wouldn’t like it, but I’d have no choice but to respect it. I’ll just say that because you’re tied to the Berkshire property, you’d still have to deal with us a little when it comes to that. Agneta wanted me to ask you today about the manor house, but I won’t push it if this is already too much.”

“What about the house?” Dagmar asked.

“None of us can get there,” Håkon said. “We talked to the British Ministry thinking maybe it had been seized or something, but they have nothing on it.”

“It’s under a Fidelius Charm that Dumbledore cast.”

“Okay,” Håkon replied. “That’s fine. We just wanted to know what’s going on. No one wants to live there, so. . .er, we were going to have a family meeting about possibly selling.”

Dagmar nodded mindlessly.

“We can worry about all that later.” Håkon waved it off. “You look pretty done for now.”

“Ja.”

On top of emotionally depleted, Dagmar just felt awkward as Håkon stood up with her. He rubbed his hands when Dagmar dug out some coins to leave for her coffee. Dagmar didn’t really care if it was rude she turned and left without another word. She headed for the inn’s travel room and closed her eyes to focus on home. When she opened them again, she was standing outside the garden door.

She headed inside. Draco sat out on the deck, looking back into the house. Dagmar slipped off her shoes and headed upstairs. Draco came up behind her as she changed.

“So I _did_ hear you come in.” He leaned against the closet door’s frame. “How’d it go?”

“Bad.”

“Oh.”

An awful feeling pervaded Dagmar. She had adjusted to apathy from her parents, but being detrimental just by being alive was a novel one. She didn’t blame herself completely in facilitating the breakdown of the Ramstad family, but this was a new level of betrayal from her mum. It was hard for Dagmar to not feel let down by every adult in her life.

Dagmar let herself be pulled into a hug. She didn’t really feel good enough to be worthy of being touched, but she still needed it. Dagmar buried her face in Draco’s neck, her chest raw like an open wound.

“Was he nasty or something?” Draco asked.

Dagmar shook her head.

“Come lay down with me.”

Dagmar felt a bit better—less on display—when Draco held her again under the blanket. Eyes closed with her ear against Draco’s chest, Dagmar let his heartbeat lull her to sleep. She didn’t much care to be awake anymore if she could help it.


	15. Return to Hogwarts

It unsettled Draco that Dagmar seemed more upset after meeting her uncle than when she’d learned her dad died. As the story slowly came out through the day, Draco started to understand. He hated that while he and Dagmar talked, he had to multitask with packing for his trip to Hogwarts the next morning. Draco really didn’t want to leave Dagmar alone like this.

Whatever progress Dagmar made was undone by watching Draco fill his rucksack with clothes. “When’s the last time we spent more than a night apart?”

“When we had to stay in our dorms at school,” Draco said.

“I don’t know if that counts.” Dagmar narrowed her eyes in thought. “The last time, really, was when I went to Nice with my parents. Herregud, that was a year ago.”

Within the last couple months, Draco couldn’t point to more than a few _hours_ they’d been separated. Even as they rode out June at Hogwarts, they spent more nights than not in the Room of Requirement.

Draco moved around the bed to Dagmar’s side and sat down between her hip and the edge. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Don’t say that.” Dagmar shook her head. “Whether you have to or not, I don’t want you to enjoy your job less because of me. Tomorrow should be exciting for you.”

“It is,” Draco said. “I’ll miss you, is all.”

“You’ll have time to?”

She managed a tight smile, which drew one in kind from Draco. He ran his hand over her forearm, which laid across her stomach. “It’s a long flight. I’m sure I’ll find a chance to spare you a thought when I get bored of looking at the sea.”

For a second, Draco worried Dagmar might not appreciate a joke when her morning had left her sensitive. He relaxed when Dagmar laughed. She rested her free hand on his knee.

“I’ll be okay,” she assured him. “It’s not like you being gone is coming as a surprise. I’ll be doing my own thing too.”

“I was thinking maybe it’s time to break out our messengers again,” Draco said. “I could take mine. No guarantee I’ll have much time to write in it, but I’d like to be able to check in with you.”

“I’ll take mine to the hospital tomorrow too, then. Just in case.”

Dagmar pushed herself upright. Draco melted a little with relief when she kissed him, his lower abdomen glowing warm when she touched his neck. He’d worried about her all day, and was glad to see her bouncing back. She definitely felt more like herself when Draco nestled up between her legs. Dagmar wrapped up around him as best she could, still not too keen on putting much space between them today. It was an easy form of comfort for Draco to oblige.

One of Dagmar’s knees hooked in Draco’s waist as they laid together afterward. Dagmar ran her fingers through Draco’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Thank you for being so good to me today,” Dagmar said.

“You’re a labour of love.”

Dagmar snorted. “I want you to know I appreciate it, though. It means a lot.” Her smile flickered slightly. “You’ve had to do it a lot for me lately. I don’t want to start getting on your nerves because I’m so needy.”

“Why would you be on my nerves? It’s not like you chose any of this.”

“I guess.”

“It’s also not like you don’t return the favour if I’ve got something going on.”

“It doesn’t happen as frequently.”

“So? Let’s not keep score. I always see it more as us versus the problem anyway. If you’re dealing with something, it’s mine too. It’s ours.”

“I guess I do the same thing, when you put it like that.” Dagmar settled into scratching Draco’s back. “It’s just sort of hard to feel worth it after everything Uncle Håkon told me earlier. I feel like I cocked up their entire family, and like the only one that really cared about me is gone. My only actual blood relative won’t give me a straight answer on anything. When I have nothing tying me to the Ramstads except for my last name, it’s hard not to feel crushingly lonely. It’s like the only family I have is whatever one I make for myself.”

“Is that really so bad?” Draco asked.

“Nei, but it leaves room for me to worry that just as easily as somebody can come into my life, so they can go. I mean. . .” Dagmar’s eyes glistened again. “If not even my mum can care that much, how could anyone else?”

“I get why you’d think like that, but it’s so wrong.” Draco ran his hand over her thigh. “You know that, right?”

Dagmar nodded. “I shouldn’t say that. You’ve always made it clear that’s how you and I stand, but I won’t lie that maybe my self-esteem took a knock today.”

“Yeah.” That was easy enough for Draco to agree with. “I can’t say if I was in your position I’d feel any different. I just hope you don’t take it all to heart. Really, nothing’s changed except for the way you look at things. You don’t have to have anything to do with your dad’s family if you don’t want to. You have me. We have our own family basically with our friends, even if we’re all our own little islands at the moment.”

“It’ll be nice to see them all again.”

Draco had busied himself that morning sending owls to everyone about coming up for Dagmar’s birthday. Theo and Daphne were already going to be here, Luca was just pissing away his summer while he waited to return to Hogwarts, and since Dagmar’s birthday fell on a Saturday, it shouldn’t be a problem for Blaise. The only one Draco wasn’t sure about was Milly, given she was busy with Quidditch training. It would be nice even if she could just pop in for dinner.

“It will be,” Draco agreed. “I’m pretty used to not seeing anyone over summer, but it’s going to be different now. I wonder if Luca is staying in Britain when he’s done school.”

“Not if he goes chasing dragons like you.”

“Maybe he’ll come here, in that case.”

The thought drew a fresh smile out of Dagmar. “I wonder if Blaise would come with him, if they’re still together.”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

Draco had mentioned in Luca’s letter that he could show him around the reserve when he came up. He had an ulterior motive to put a face to Luca’s application for if he submitted one in December. It made more sense for Luca to try and get on in Romania. Still, Draco could at least give him a glimpse of the profession. Visiting Jotunheimen last summer made Draco hungry for it when he went back to Hogwarts.

Although Dagmar cycled through moods throughout the day, she seemed to land on a good one when she and Draco went to bed at the end of it. Because Draco had something big happening in the morning, he woke up a few times in the night. Draco was happy to see that, in contrast to his unrest, Dagmar was fast asleep.

One time when Draco roused, he was alone in the bed. The bedroom was faintly humid, with the mingled scents of Dagmar’s hair products. Combatting that from downstairs was the mouth-watering smell of breakfast. Draco had to swallow frequently as he dressed. Rucksack on one shoulder and his new travel cloaks folded over his other arm, he brought all his things downstairs.

Dagmar was still in a robe with her hair up in a towel. She brightened when she saw him. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Draco put an arm around Dagmar’s middle and kissed her cheek. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.”

Draco took a cursory glance anyway over everything Dagmar had on the go. He couldn’t see anything other than Dagmar lacking coffee.

“You have a big trip ahead of you, so I thought I’d send you off with a full stomach,” Dagmar said. “There’s no real telling how long it might take you all to reach Hogwarts.”

“I appreciate the thought.”

With excitement mounting and relief to see Dagmar in a similar state of eagerness, Draco’s appetite ramped up to suit the full English breakfast he plated for himself. Dagmar ate some with him before nipping upstairs to get ready for her day. She’d picked up her Healer uniform early on Friday, when Draco had to go to the hospital for immunization updates. She didn’t wear it yet since she wouldn’t be on the floor until the afternoon, but Draco’s gaze wandered over her regardless when she came back downstairs. Dagmar snorted and smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. Her cheeks glowed.

Draco held her tightly in front of the fireplace. Dagmar’s lips of course felt too soft to leave alone, and Draco drew lungfuls of her scent at the crook of her neck for as long as he could get away with.

Dagmar sighed as the clock ticked past quarter to eight. “I have to go.”

“Me too.”

She kissed him again. “Have fun. I hope you’ll be able to write, but I’ll understand if you don’t have time.”

Draco nodded against her shoulder as he squeezed her one more time. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

She stepped into the fireplace. Draco loaded himself up again with a sigh and tossed some more floo powder into the fire. When he arrived at the main building at Jotunheimen, there was a little over a handful of their group ready to go. Alex, Hanna, and Big Swede were there, along with some of the other mentors plus one more dragonologist that had signed on to come along.

Big Swede worked on a massive mug of coffee. “We got all the enclosures ready to go yesterday. Looks like we’ll be able to take off right around eight.”

“Cheers,” Draco replied.

Since everyone else was excited, Draco caught on fast. He looked forward to taking the first true long distance flight he ever had by broom. His eagerness only grew as he headed into the lockers in order to put on his armour. Draco was pleased to find that his new cloaks fit well enough overtop. He would need them today for the cold air.

Leo, Hanna, and Masha arrived, and then a queue formed at the toilets. Big Swede had volunteered to saddle his Firebolt for the trip there, carrying all the magically shrunken equipment they would need for the return flight. Take-off was delayed as they made sure they had absolutely everything.

All emotion spare weightless freedom flooded out of Draco as he ascended with everyone else. Alex’s mentor, Kustaa, took the lead as navigator. Once they were far enough up, he gestured them all to turn west. The mountains shrunk below, and no longer shielded them from the wind’s full force. Draco took a double glance downward when he spotted something against the grey and white landscape. Seemingly lazy and at a fraction of the speed they all moved at, a dragon leisurely flew along.

Lakes pockmarked the land when they left the western boundary of the reserve. It all started to slowly turn green again, and the view of some fjords was probably one Draco would never get from the ground. Spare the odd Muggle road below, there wasn’t much else to interrupt Norway’s unfettered wilderness. The soaring feeling Draco experienced from it on top of moving at the Firebolt’s top speed of two-hundred miles per hour made him wonder if Dagmar would ever come up here like this with him. She wasn’t the most comfortable or experienced flier, but she could always just ride with Draco on his Nimbus.

Waterways carved up the land. About forty-five minutes into their trip, the North Sea opened up like a black blanket ahead of them. As quickly as the sea arrived, land disappeared behind them. Draco pulled his cloak up over the bottom half of his face as the atmosphere cooled. Erratic winds made it harder to breathe as well.

An island appeared ahead. Kustaa directed them all downward toward a bit of forest at its southern tip. Draco had lost perspective on how fast they were moving. The sudden change in speed left him a little wobbly when he dismounted his broom.

“Take fifteen minutes,” Masha’s mentor named Thisbe told them all. “Then we’ll carry on.”

Leo stretched his legs beside Draco. “This is it? Scotland?”

“Shetland, I think.”

Draco turned out to be right. They were also past the half-point in their trip, which disappointed Draco. He was enjoying himself. However, excitement mounted again as they all got back into the air. It would only be a little over another hour before they’d be landing at Hogwarts.

They crossed more of the sea before reaching land again. The bumpy parts of northern Scotland turned mountainous. Kustaa directed them closer to the ground as Muggle civilization grew spotty before disappearing altogether. A tingle in the air gave Draco the impression they were getting close. His stomach flipped when they came over a mountain peak and a wash of thick, tangled forest led up to where Hogwarts sat on the edge of the lake. Draco couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the squid lapping around in the eastern shallows.

They flew low over the Quidditch pitch and the Whomping Willow on their way to land in front of the castle’s main entrance. Now that Draco was here, he felt slightly strange. This wasn’t his school anymore. It had been his home for seven years, and now he had outgrown it. Draco didn’t even feel it his place anymore to go inside uninvited.

Draco looked over when the front doors opened. Dumbledore strolled out toward them with his hands folded behind his back and a serene smile on his face. Even though Draco had only just seen him on Friday, the context was different here. His coworkers’ excitement tickled him, since all the ones Draco’s age looked at Dumbledore like a celebrity.

“Velkommen,” Dumbledore greeted them all in Norwegian. “Glad you could make it. Good flight?”

He went around to shake all their hands. Dumbledore winked as he took Draco’s. “Long time, no see.”

“Sure was,” Draco replied.

Even though it wasn’t yet noon, Gunvor had arranged with Dumbledore that they would all stay until the next morning. That would give them a maximum number of hours with sunlight to make the comparatively slow journey back to Jotunheimen.

“You have your choice of where in the castle you’d like to spend the night,” Dumbledore told them all. “Draco, if you’d prefer to stay in your old dorm, you could show whoever else cares to accompany you down to the Slytherin common room. If anyone else prefers a tower or somewhere more earthy, I can have either Minerva, Filius, or Pomona show you to the other house quarters.”

A thought occurred to Draco. “Does that mean I could go into the other common rooms? Even just to check them out?”

“Do as you wish.” Dumbledore winked at him again. “You’re a guest here, and no longer a student.”

Although tempted to lay his head elsewhere, Draco ended up leading Alex, Leo, Hanna, and Masha down into the dungeons. Hogwarts had warmed up under the noon sun, and the deeper parts of the castle were pleasantly cool in comparison. As they neared the wall that normally hid the Slytherin common room, it opened on its own without waiting for a password. That was good, since Dumbledore hadn’t given Draco one. Draco also had no idea if Professor Snape was around.

“That’s cool,” Hanna said about the subterranean view into the lake. “Our dorms at Kapsferd are sort of underground like this, but we had skylights instead.”

“Helps keep warm in the winter, being underground,” Draco replied. “The rest of the castle can get pretty chilly in January and February.”

“Da, I know all about that,” Masha spoke up. “Durmstrang is closed up pretty tightly, but you still feel it once in a while.”

“You played Quidditch through winter, don’t you?” Draco remembered Luca mentioning that.

“The pitch is heated, so it’s not all bad,” she said. “I felt bad for the Seekers though, having to be more up in the air than the rest of us.”

Draco pointed Hanna and Masha toward the girl dormitories, and led Alex and Leo to the one he used to share with Blaise, Theo, Crabbe, and Goyle. It felt strangely empty. Draco’s old bed was naked without his trunk and personal effects strewn around. It would be where one of the new first-year Slytherin boys laid his head next month.

After dropping his rucksack at the bed’s end, Draco removed the layers of clothes and armour that had kept him warm during their journey. While Alex and Leo explored the bathroom and relaxed for a minute on the beds they’d chosen (Alex on Crabbe’s, and Leo on Blaise’s), Draco dug out his messenger.

Dagmar had written him: _Just got out for lunch. Lessons went good but I already have homework to keep me busy tonight. Hope you had a good flight_

Draco unstopped some ink to reply: _Got here a little while ago. We’re spending the night before heading out at daybreak tomorrow morning. Currently sitting in my old dorm with Alex and Leo. It’s sure weird to be here with them and not all our old friends._

“Anything exciting happening back home?” Alex asked. He laid like Theo used to, with his fingers folded behind his head.

“They already got homework,” Draco answered. “I’ll tell you, that’s something about this place I _won’t_ miss.”

Alex laughed. “Got a lot, did you?”

“Essays out the arse.”

“Same at Ilvermorny,” Leo said. “Shocked I didn’t lose my hand from writing so much last year.”

Hanna and Masha were waiting for them in the common room. Mention of lunch put them on track back to the Great Hall, where they were the first among the dragonologists to have arrived. Some of Hogwarts’ staff was here. Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout sat together up at the staff table, and so did Professor Sinistra and Vector further down the line. Professor Flitwick was there too. Draco wondered if Dumbledore had found a new Defence professor yet.

A tour naturally followed after they’d all eaten. Draco barely knew where to start other than heading up the Entrance Hall staircase and then seeing where his feet led him. Since he knew the general area of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms, they started up at the top of the castle. Draco was about to give up on the Gryffindor one when a portrait with a fat woman opened, and all their mentors spilled out. They touched base on going out to the grounds mid-afternoon to see about the firedrakes, and then their mentors headed off to find lunch.

The Gryffindor common room was cozy in its own way, warm and bright both in lighting and colour. Alex, Leo, Hanna, and Masha didn’t seem quite as intrigued by it, since they didn’t appreciate its forbidden nature. Their level of interest changed when Draco, inwardly sighing, informed them that this was where Harry Potter would’ve spent a lot of his time at Hogwarts.

“So you didn’t really know him when you were here?” Hanna asked as they carried on elsewhere.

“Well.” Draco shrugged. “Yeah, I did. We didn’t really get along, is the thing.”

“Why not?”

Draco ran his teeth over his bottom lip, stuck between uncomfortable and amused. “I guess I was a bit of a prat. Jealous. We ended up more rivals the last few years here rather than enemies, but things are still a bit stiff.”

“You kept in contact?” Alex asked.

“I’m helping him and Dumbledore with this You-Know-Who business.” Draco paused. “Well, I’m trying. There isn’t a whole lot I can offer. Er. . .I guess I never mentioned that my father is a convicted Death Eater?”

“Nyet.” A line appeared in Masha’s forehead. “Actually?”

Warmth bloomed in Draco’s cheeks as his discomfort grew. “A high-ranking one. He’s in Azkaban. I’ve been trying to help by getting him to open up about what You-Know-Who was up to, weaknesses we might not know about—things like that.”

“Damn, dude,” Leo said.

“Yeah, so now I make up for it however I can,” Draco told them all. “It doesn’t amount to much, but we try. Dagmar’s in the same boat with her parents. She’s a Ramstad.”

“Oh,” Hanna said quietly.

“It’s good to be away from it all.” Draco felt awkward from the looks he was getting. “Dagmar and I are starting a new life. If it wasn’t for trying to help out Potter and all them, we would’ve broken away clean.”

“It’s not something you chose,” Alex said. “From the things _I’ve_ heard, you’re lucky you got out.”

Draco nodded. He didn’t think it was possible to feel so uncomfortable talking about all of this, but these weren’t people familiar with his life prior to three weeks ago. Even Potter was easier to relate to, because they had grown up together.

In order to step away from this topic, Draco carried on with his tour. They’d arrived at the trophy room. Between showing them the Quidditch and House Cups that Draco had helped Slytherin win, he told the story about challenging Potter to a duel here in their first year, and then tattling to try and get him and Weasley caught. Then there was the incident with the dragon, when Draco got into just as much trouble for being out of bed after curfew. Draco trimmed the details on the detention he’d suffered with Potter.

Leo’s laughter trailed off first. “You _were_ a little shit, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Draco easily admitted.

Things like that, Draco could look back on now through a lens of fondness. He’d been so offended that Potter rejected his extended hand that he found any other way possible to insert himself into Potter’s life. Considering how silly some of the first-years at Hogwarts behaved, like first-year Slytherins hissing at each other, Draco figured he was pretty par for the course as an eleven year old.

Mid-afternoon crept up on them, so Draco led everyone out of the castle and across the grounds. He took them past Hagrid’s cabin just in case that was where everyone wound up to be, but all was quiet until they came up on the part of forest that obscured the firedrake enclosure. Voices came from ahead, and Draco would recognize Big Swede’s laugh anywhere.

Draco stilted to a stop when, as he rounded the edge of trees, he spotted a couple of the firedrakes sprinting along with their heads in a lock. One finally tripped, breaking the stalemate in their little game of aggression, and rolled to a stop. The other one carried on in a pompous canter with his head high and chest out, bronze scales glinting in the sunlight.

“Jormundr!” Draco called to him.

Jormundr came to a slow stop, head turning in Draco’s direction. Draco could see Jormundr’s gears churning, and he half-wondered for a second if Jormundr would even care that Draco was back.

Draco grinned when Jormundr ramped up to a dead-gallop in their direction. As he neared, it became clear he did not intend on stopping. The others moved out of the way before Draco did. Jormundr passed through where he’d been standing at top speed, slowing only when he rounded back. Tufts of lawn flew up as Jormundr’s claws dug in, and now Draco wished he’d left his armour on. Whether Jormundr was excited or just acting a fool, Draco didn’t much care to see the hospital wing during his visit.

“Easy,” Draco sternly told Jormundr as he jumped up at his chest. Draco tried to set his hand on Jormundr’s head, an action that tended to short-circuit firedrakes. Jormundr playfully whipped his head back and forth to avoid it. Since he didn’t snap at Draco’s fingers, Draco figured Jormundr was just happy to see him.

“Watch the claws,” Leo said.

“Oh I am,” Draco replied. “He’s got me with them before, the little twat.”

They all laughed. Draco finally managed to lay a hand between Jormundr’s ears, which compelled him to stand still as his eyes slid out of focus. He snorted, ran his tongue out of his mouth a couple times, and then settled into a heavy lean against Draco’s side.

“Bloody hell, he got big,” Draco said as he ran his thumb over Jormundr’s eyebrow ridge. “Must’ve hit full size since the last time I saw him.”

“This is the one you raised, then?” Masha asked. “Could I try to pet him? We learned about firedrakes, but never got to see any.”

“Just dodge if he tries to jump up. He loves with his claws.”

Jormundr had been well-enough socialized to handle a couple unfamiliar hands on him, but still squirmed a bit if he felt surrounded. He’d duck his head and back up with a low groan in the back of his throat. When all the feverishness had been bled out of him (Hagrid called it the zoomies), Jormundr fell in beside Draco as they all headed to the enclosure. Draco had to side-step once in a while as Jormundr made to nip at his ankle.

The enclosure had changed since Draco last saw it. Its gate had been removed. The firedrakes played around in the clearing as Hagrid and their mentors watched them. Hagrid and Big Swede stood next to each other, arms folded and grins wide as they chatted.

“He found yeh, did he?” Hagrid greeted Draco with, beaming. “How’ve yeh been?”

The breath was forced out of Draco’s lungs as Hagrid clapped him on the back. “I’m good. You?”

“Well, other than dreadin’ today. . .” Sure enough, there was a little wetness to Hagrid’s eyes.

“That’s a wily one,” Big Swede said to Draco with a point of his chin at Jormundr. “Good thing you seem to have a bit of a handle on him.”

“Sort of.” Jormundr pushed his head up against Draco’s hand. “He’s definitely a free spirit.”


	16. Olaf Kyrre

Dagmar arrived at the hospital at eight for a pre-program meeting with Arne and the teaching Healers. The program was set up a lot differently than Dagmar was familiar with. Rather than take the same courses from September to June like how it worked at Hogwarts, she would be taking fewer courses at a time with shorter terms. Dagmar’s first slew of final exams were scheduled the first week of December. Rinse and repeat from January to May. Instead of getting summer holidays, a half-term was shoved into June and July. After another set of fall and winter terms, Dagmar would graduate in June of 2000.

Before Dagmar really had a chance to absorb all that, her lectures began at nine o’clock with Anatomy and Physiology. At ten-thirty, Healer Nilsson left their classroom and was replaced by the much more stern Healer Hall, who would be teaching them Ethics. Saddled already with worksheets and an essay for homework, Dagmar accompanied Frida, Tora, Åke, and Leif to the cafeteria for lunch. She carved out thirty seconds to write a short note to Draco.

At quarter to one, Dagmar changed into her uniform and met Ingrid at the second-floor Healer station. Her head swam by the time the daily practicum session ended three hours later. Dagmar got easily turned around in all of Olaf Kyrre’s similar-looking wards. She encountered a lot of maladies she hadn’t even heard of before. After saying goodbye to Ingrid, Dagmar headed home, dropped her bag by the coffee table, and fell onto the couch.

What was meant to be a quick rest of the eyes turned into a decent kip. It was past six when Dagmar woke up. The later part of the day warmed up, turning Dagmar sweaty and even more uncomfortable than her period starting that morning had. A shower worked well to fix both fronts, although by then Dagmar was too lazy and hungry to actually cook for herself. She ended up dressing decently enough to head down to Den Sultne Jotunn and order something at the restaurant that she could bring back home.

Dagmar grabbed her messenger out of her bag and opened it while she ate at the kitchen island. Nostalgia hit hard as she read Draco’s note about being in his old dorm. Being back in lessons had reminded Dagmar heavily of her old life at Hogwarts, and that feeling only grew more acute to think of Draco walking around their old stomping grounds.

 _Had some good nights in that dorm_ , Dagmar wrote back with a cheeky grin. _I had a good first day overall but it was hectic. There’s a bit too much to put here in writing. Hope you’re having fun._

Dagmar kept a casual eye on her messenger as she finished dinner, and then moved to the living room with it to start on her homework. It wasn’t too bad—at least not the kind that required a lot of research. The worksheets were starting points on learning the terminology associated with human anatomy. Healer Nilsson hinted strongly that they would be quizzed on it Wednesday morning when class reconvened. The essay wouldn’t be too bad either, since the topic was what ethics personally meant to Dagmar. She figured she’d already answered that for herself by going through her Fitness to Practice module with Arne. All she needed to do was organize those thoughts into written word.

Fresh words appeared in Dagmar’s messenger past eight o’clock: _Plenty of fun. It’s been a good day here too. We spent the better part of the afternoon making sure all the enclosures are comfortable for the firedrakes, although they’ve gotten fussy since term ended. Hagrid got to let them roam once everyone left for summer and they’re not taking to being confined again. These enclosures are a lot smaller than they’re used to too. It’s going to be a slow trip back and I won’t be surprised if we don’t make it all the way tomorrow. We’re leaving at first light so I think around 5_

 _Going to bed soon?_ Dagmar wrote back.

_We’re all in the dorm again now. Going to have a shower and try, but I wanted to talk to you_

Dagmar smiled anew. _I’m still working on homework so if you want to have your shower I’ll be here when you’re done._

_K_

Endeared, Dagmar forced herself to focus on her work while Draco was doing that. She didn’t mind staying up a little later to finish it, since she’d fallen asleep for the afternoon’s dregs.

 _I’m back_ , he wrote twenty minutes later. _Sure felt good after sweating all day. I think I’m out of shape._

Dagmar laughed to herself. _Aw. Well the good news is one of my classes is about learning anatomy so I’m sure I’ll be learning all the good pressure points if you ever want massages after work._

_Won’t lie, that sounds really good about now. Would anyway but you know what I mean._

_Sore?_

_Yeah_

The urge to touch Draco arose with slight frustration, since Dagmar couldn’t right now. Draco’s personality always came through clearly in his writing, and his physical absence was all the more obvious with a quiet cottage.

 _I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you,_ Dagmar wrote.

 _Me too,_ Draco replied, making Dagmar laugh again. _You were feeling a bit better today?_

_Didn’t really have time to think about anything. I thought maybe it would distract me from my classes but it went the other way around. I went on the rag this morning which might explain some of why I was so down yesterday_

_That’s still pretty upsetting stuff._

_Yeah_ , Dagmar agreed. _I start my program counselling tomorrow morning so I might get a chance to talk about it. We’ll see. I’m sure the first session will be more about my counsellor just getting to know me. Family’s a pretty big part of that I guess_

_Definitely. Are you looking forward to it?_

Dagmar paused to think about it. _Maybe. Annette seemed really nice when we met this morning. It wouldn’t hurt to have somebody outside the situation to talk to. I know you don’t mind and all that but I would rather not always be a mess at home. I’d rather be good/fun company_

_You’d still keep me in the loop though hey_

_Of course. You’ll always be my #1_

The heart Draco drew in response inflated Dagmar’s chest with new endearment. Dagmar never really needed reminders that she was lucky with him, but Draco always delivered on those anyway. It left Dagmar a little dejected when she had to wish him good night. Yet again as Dagmar rode out the evening, her left ring finger felt bare with nothing on it. Dagmar’s stomach flipped in a pleasant way when, while getting ready for bed, she took a peek in her jewelry box. The ring she’d lent Draco for her size had been quietly returned. That meant he’d gotten her engagement ring back.

It made it all the harder to fall asleep. Heimdall just didn’t cut it on his own, even if he crowded Dagmar much the same way Draco sometimes did. Dagmar curled up around a pillow since she couldn’t crowd Draco either. An inability to burn off her affection for him through a good snog made Dagmar restless.

Dagmar checked her messenger in the morning, pleased to see that Draco had written to let her know he was on the move again. She replied, but doubted she would get much else from him today until he either updated her on his whereabouts that evening or made it home.

Annette waited for Dagmar by the water fountain in the hospital lobby. She smiled warmly when their gazes met. That Annette could still be so pleasant knowing that Dagmar had killed a cat and nearly did the same to a classmate was encouraging.

“Take a seat,” she invited Dagmar in her office with a gesture at a comfy looking chair.

Dagmar set her bag down beside it. She played with her hands in her lap while Annette set up a piece of parchment and Quick-Quotes Quill on a small table beside her own chair. While the quill waited to get going on its own, quivering as it hovered over the parchment, Annette put her full focus on Dagmar.

She smiled anew, her brown eyes crinkling. “I believe Arne told you he would pass along your information to me so that we would have a solid starting point in making these weekly sessions fruitful.”

Dagmar nodded. “It was probably a bit easier than me having to say it all again.”

“There was quite a lot in that form.” Annette crossed her legs. “Was it cathartic to write it all down?”

“Sort of.” Dagmar thought about it. “I was glad I did, in the end. While I was doing it, I was scared it would disqualify me from the program. Maybe it would have, if Arne didn’t know enough to make the suggestion it all fit together in a way I couldn’t see.”

“While I would like to ask you more about it since it seems like an important part of your life, I wanted to get more of an overview of everything today,” Annette told her. “Who are the most important people in your life?”

Dagmar was much happier to talk about that instead. She could’ve probably gone on for longer than the hour allotted just about Draco, but she limited herself to only half of it as she recounted how they came to be, and how it had affected Dagmar’s life. She talked about her friends too, as well as the Tonks family.

“It sounds to me like you have an expansive support system, and that your relationship with Draco is healthy and stable,” Annette commented. “Who modelled that for you?”

“Erm. . .” Dagmar’s gaze wandered. “My mum and dad, I guess. They always seemed to have a good relationship. I never saw them fight—nothing big, anyway. Squabbles. If they had big fights, it had to have been out of my sight or when I was away at school.”

“You didn’t mention them. You weren’t close?”

Dagmar had hoped to avoid talking about them too much, but she was well aware just how much of an impact parents had, good or bad, on their kids. Dagmar didn’t want to open herself up to potentially crying before she headed to class.

“We all used to be.” Dagmar looked out the window at the bay. “I really miss those days. I don’t know why it affected me so much when Uncle Håkon told me I wasn’t my dad’s biological daughter. I guess it feels like it changes the way we all drifted apart. He picked me and my mum over his own blood, and then it was like he lost interest in me later on. I know he didn’t, I _know_ that, but when I just got brushed aside because he was busy serving Voldemort, I don’t really feel it.”

“You at least know the difference between knowing and feeling something,” Annette replied. “It might not seem like much, but there can be a chasm between the two. It’s only natural, after everything you’ve been through, to feel as you do. Your parents—your mum, even now—were not transparent with you. You mentioned they tried to keep you away from their business with Voldemort as best they could?”

“I think so.” Dagmar paused. “I mean, I was always pretty close to it because Voldemort was literally in my home. My parents didn’t talk to me much, but I guess I didn’t talk to them either. I didn’t want them to try and sell me on it. At the end of last summer, my mum and dad acted like they didn’t think I was coming back home. They can’t have known then how things were going to go in March, so I took it to mean they wanted me to get away.”

“It sounds like they expected a hiatus,” Annette said. “As if they wanted to handle whatever they were stuck in without their child having to be involved.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed, thinking hard again. “I guess I get it. That’s how it was with my dad’s family too. Uncle Håkon mentioned when we met on Sunday that he and my aunt Agneta didn’t want me and my cousins to know they were all fighting. I certainly never realized until he told me. It hurt me enough to find out now. If I heard all that when I was younger, I don’t know how I would feel. It might have been different if I could talk to my dad. I could’ve heard his side of things.”

“It doesn’t sound like you got much closure with his death.”

“Even less then I thought, turns out.” Dagmar swallowed hard. “I’m just trying to focus on what I had with him, and make peace with what we _won’t_ have. I had also thought that maybe if I managed to have a relationship with his side of the family, I could still feel close to him that way. I don’t know what’s going to happen with that now. I don’t know if they want to know me—well, Uncle Håkon might, or maybe he just feels guilty. I’m honestly scared of my aunt Agneta. I think she might resent me for how my dad drifted away from them all, and I don’t know if I can really blame her.”

“Do you think you’ll want to meet them, or at least your uncle again?”

“Sounds like I’ll have to associate with them anyway, since I’m the de facto heiress of my dad’s estate.” Dagmar shrugged. “I’m not sure, otherwise. I might need more time for things to settle emotionally. I need to process what my uncle told me.”

“Of course.”

At the end of the hour, Dagmar felt a little lighter. It certainly put her in a better place emotionally before she was expected to sit her first Pharmacology lecture. As a mixture of applied Herbology and Potions to the field, Dagmar certainly appreciated the ability to focus. Her head felt fuzzy by ten-thirty, when Assessment and Diagnostics started. At noon when she was released for lunch, Dagmar concluded that her Tuesday and Thursday classes would be much more challenging than Monday and Wednesday’s.

Dagmar checked her messenger over the lunch period, but Draco hadn’t responded yet. Her afternoon tailing Ingrid flew by just like the previous day. Draco wasn’t home when Dagmar got there, which didn’t surprise her. He hadn’t written yet, so Dagmar had no idea if that meant she should expect him later on. One thing she could be certain on was that when he _did_ make it home, he would probably be beyond peckish. Dagmar had taken a beef roast out of the freezer, so set on making a stew. It would be easy to heat up whenever Draco came in.

Dagmar had eaten and made a dent in her homework when words finally showed up in her messenger: _We set up camp for the night. Made it as far as Shetland. We wanted to go at crossing the sea fresh in the morning. It’s a slow process. Had to take the long way through the highlands so that we could keep ground underneath us. None of us are looking forward to the next bit_

 _Tough flight?_ Dagmar replied.

_Kind of, yeah. The firedrakes don’t want to be enclosed and they aren’t used to flying as high as we need to go to avoid being spotted by Muggles. Then there’s things like toilet breaks and we can’t fly too fast anyway so that the enclosures stay secure on our brooms. If we go over where we can see Muggle roads the cars are moving quite a bit faster than we are_

_Makes for a long day._

_Yeah. We set up the tent Andreja brought and had something to eat. Alex and Leo are already asleep and I probably won’t be too far behind them. Did you have a good day?_

_I did,_ Dagmar wrote. _In ways it was better than yesterday. I wasn’t as lost during practicum, but the classes I sat are definitely harder than the other two. I had my first counselling session this morning and I think it went really well. I’ll tell you about it when you get home_

_Sounds good. I’m glad to hear that. I was worried about going away and not being able to even say anything if you needed someone_

_It’s okay. I’m just focusing on my homework and stuff for now. I made a big stew so whenever you get home it’ll be in the ice box waiting for you_

_Cheers_

The conversation didn’t go on much longer. Dagmar could tell just from the way Draco’s handwriting dragged that he was wiped. She told him to get some sleep, that she loved him, and that she hoped to see him tomorrow. That seemed enough to convince him to put his messenger away for the night.

Dagmar finished her homework not long after, although didn’t feel totally confident about it. She kept on studying for Pharmacology while sitting out on the deck, and then called in Heimdall when her eyes grew too tired to keep on reading. Dagmar had an easier time sleeping than the night before, since she hadn’t bothered with an afternoon kip. Dagmar sat out on the deck again with her coffee in the morning and reviewed her Anatomy worksheets. She was glad she did. Healer Nilsson indeed quizzed them on it before they moved on with their next lesson.

Other than when Draco left Shetland at daybreak, Dagmar didn’t hear from him. She came home a little after four anticipating he might be there, but he wasn’t. Dagmar hoped that Draco wouldn’t be delayed another day. Although she was trying to be patient, she missed him.

Dagmar kept a constant eye on her messenger, heading into the evening. Another day without rain allowed her to keep on with her homework on the deck. She was thinking about asking Draco to go in with her on a proper outdoor table when she heard the telltale whoosh of the fireplace. Dagmar’s head whipped around, and then her heart leapt in time with the straightening of her spine. She snapped her book shut and headed for the garden door.

Draco was on his way toward it. He mirrored Dagmar’s grin and pulled her into a tight hug. Dagmar buried her face in his neck and registered quite quickly that his head was as heavy as it could be on her shoulder. She pulled away and, sure enough, Draco looked about ready to fall where he stood.

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” Dagmar said after kissing him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it today or not.”

“Me neither, to be honest.” Draco stole another kiss. “We debated it when we reached this side of the sea, but decided just to push through. Thankfully once we got back to the reserve, the evening shift told us they could handle the firedrakes from there.”

“That was nice of them.”

Dagmar ran her fingers through Draco’s hair as they kissed again. It had gone dry from all the wind.

“I’ll heat you up some dinner, if you wanted to jump in the shower,” Dagmar offered. “Or have you eaten yet?”

“Not since breakfast. I’m famished.”

“I’m sure you are.” Dagmar pat his bum. “It’ll be ready for you when you come back down.”

A little smirk pulled at the corner of Draco’s mouth. “Not coming with?”

“Believe me, a shower together right now would not be as hot as you’d hope for.”

He sighed. “All right, then.”

While the stew reheated on the stovetop, Dagmar cut and drained some strawberries. Draco practically inhaled the first bowl of stew he scooped for himself, and went immediately for seconds despite a heads up that there was dessert as well. Draco made similar work on the strawberries covered in sweet whipped cream. He started to slow down when the amount of food caught up with him.

Showering had perked Draco up, but eating put him back into a sleepy mode. He rubbed his eyes as he sat at the island, digesting. Dagmar washed his dishes for him.

She draped herself over his back before kissing his cheek. “Are you heading to bed then?”

“Not if you’re not.” He rested his hand on her forearm. “What’re you doing?”

“Just studying, but I could call it.”

Draco grunted. “I don’t want to interrupt you. I’ll just come lay on the couch, if that’s all right.”

“Of course it is.”

Dagmar had dropped her book on the stairs’ corner landing when she came back inside. She grabbed it while Draco made himself comfortable on the couch. Once Dagmar had settled, Draco set a pillow against her thigh and curled up under the throw. Being in a vertical position seemed to be what finally pushed him toward sleep. Dagmar hadn’t read more than a couple paragraphs in her Pharmacology textbook before Draco’s breath evened out.

It took every ounce of self-control Dagmar possessed not to touch Draco and risk waking him back up. He’d gotten some sun while away, turning his hair nearly white. That he tanned a little only made the contrast more stark.

Coming up close to ten, it was too dark for Dagmar to read anymore without having to light up the living room torches. She figured she’d done enough anyway. Draco was like a rock when she shook his shoulder. He responded more to fresh fingers through his hair, followed by a caress of the cheek.

“Ready to move upstairs?” she asked him.

“Mhm.”

Draco was a bit slower than Dagmar getting ready for bed. She beat him there, pulling him in when he joined her. She couldn’t help but groan in relief to hold him against her again.

“It’s good to be home,” Draco said.

“Mhm.” Dagmar kissed him. “So what’re you doing tomorrow at work, then? That trip pretty much ate up your entire first week.”

“Maybe getting the firedrakes comfortable, and stuff. They weren’t very happy when we landed.”

“Nei?” Dagmar scratched Draco’s back.

“Too much of a change all at once, and we couldn’t do anything to make it better for them,” Draco replied. “They really didn’t like the sea. We had to go so slow over it because they would thrash around and stuff. Like, do you _want_ to fall in? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you keep on.”

Dagmar laughed, although it wasn’t a very funny situation. “How’s Jormundr doing?”

“He’s being himself.” Draco chuckled. “He was happy to see me when I got to Hogwarts. He’s been grumpy ever since.”

“Go figure.”

Even after sleeping the evening away, Draco had a hard time keeping awake. He rolled over when Dagmar told him to, and Dagmar happily pressed herself up against his back. She kept on nuzzling Draco beyond his breath evening out, and woke up in the same position when Draco tried to slip out in the morning.

“Aren’t you getting up?” he asked as he dressed.

“My day doesn’t start until nine, except when I have counselling Tuesdays,” Dagmar replied. “I’ll probably get up, though. Are you hungry?”

“Are _you?_ ”

“Not really.”

Draco just nodded, and Dagmar wasn’t sure what he was up to. A telltale sizzle sounded from downstairs while she peed, and she caught a whiff of bacon from the loft.

“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” Dagmar asked.

Draco pushed the bacon around in a pan. “You said you weren’t hungry. I was just going to make breakfast for myself.”

Dagmar shrugged and went to make him tea. “I don’t know, that smells good.”

“I’ll add some for you. Do you want eggs?”

“Sure.”

Since Dagmar was in the vicinity of it, she brought the bread down from the cupboard. Draco hadn’t mentioned wanting any, but Dagmar doubted he would put up a fuss if she set some toast on his plate. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and her stomach fluttered to see Draco looking right back at her.

It was the kind of morning where, if neither of them had anywhere to be, Dagmar would’ve led Draco right back up to bed. The inability to blow off that steam would have to just carry them into their weekend. They had a good snog in front of the fireplace before Draco headed up to the reserve, and then Dagmar washed up and dressed for her own departure an hour later.

After being adjusted to a five-day schedule at Hogwarts, this week felt ridiculously short. Dagmar had Friday feelings all through her classes, and didn’t mind a hefty load of work due for next Tuesday. Practicum flew as well, and it was quickly becoming Dagmar’s favourite part of the program since it was always unpredictable. It pleased Dagmar that Draco beat her home, but only just. He was halfway up the stairs to their bedroom when Dagmar came in through the fireplace.

Dagmar laughed when Draco’s gaze travelled over her in her uniform. “Stop.”

“Nothing wrong with a little look,” Draco replied.

“I want to be taken seriously, though.” Dagmar set her bag at the bottom landing of the stairs and dug out the clothes she’d worn to class that morning. “I get those looks enough at the hospital.”

“Oh, do you?” Draco’s smirk slipped away.

“From the patients,” Dagmar clarified. “Ingrid explained it like that since we’re taking care of them, sometimes the patients don’t feel like they have any personal power in the situation. They’ll act ignorant to compensate.”

“You have to put up with that?”

Dagmar joined him on the landing. “I haven’t gotten more than looks. Ingrid said that when we get a quiet moment during practicum, we’ll talk more about how to handle it. For now I’m barely ever more than three feet away from her, so if something comes up she’ll be there to help me. I can stand up for myself and all, but I can’t just tell them to fuck off in a professional workplace.”

Draco snorted despite the topic at hand. The glimmer of humour quickly disappeared again. “Still, sorry. They’re not even sexy uniforms. I’m just being. . .yeah.”

“Aw, don’t think you can’t look at me just because of that,” Dagmar said.

Still, Dagmar had debated her choice of a skirted uniform over pants the first time she saw a patient’s gaze skim over her. When it came to patients like that, Ingrid had said, it would hardly matter if she wore a potato sack or if she was a gelatinous cube. They would find someway, whether with sexual undertones or just by being rude, to assert themselves at the hands of a caregiver.

“I dunno,” Draco still said. He unclipped his travel cloak to remove it. “I think you’re lush all the time, but I don’t want to start reminding you of gross people at work.”

“I don’t think you will. At the same time, if I’m coming home on a day that happened, I can’t say I’d be very receptive to it.”

“I just won’t risk it, then.”

While that disappointed Dagmar in the moment, she knew of a quick and easy fix. She removed her component belt, and then slipped out of her uniform. Down to her bra and knickers, she watched Draco doff his armour. Since Dagmar sincerely doubted Draco would ever have to deal with sexual harassment from his charges at work, she saw no issue in admiring how the armour bulked him up and made him look a little wilder than his aristocratic background otherwise suggested.

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” she said. “Care to join?”

“Sure, I’ll be right behind you.”

Dagmar hated to have spoiled what was just Draco being silly. She was more than eager to make up for it in other ways, especially since it had been just as long for her since some kind of relief. The last time they shagged was more about comfort than pleasure. Dagmar’s skin tingled with the quickly emerging want for that.

She made room in the shower for Draco when he slid the door open. “You know what’s sad?”

“What?” Draco asked.

“I’ve gotten so spoiled about how often we shag that it feels like a lifetime since we last got the chance.”

Draco snorted. “It doesn’t usually go any different when you’re on the rag anyway.”

“I know, but I can usually at least do something for you, or just get in a good snog.”

Dagmar pressed herself up against Draco, holding him close around his middle. He was already half-hard. As they snogged, though, Dagmar could tell he wasn’t fully into it. She rubbed his shoulders and smiled encouragingly.

“I really hope you’re not taking what I said to heart,” Dagmar told him. “You’re a special case.”

“I just don’t want to be another creep.”

“You’re not.”

“Then why’d you say you get enough looks like that when I was looking you over? That sounded like you didn’t appreciate it, and I’m not going to push the line.”

Dagmar pressed her fingers mindlessly into Draco’s muscles, trying to think what really bothered her about it. She definitely didn’t want to make Draco feel bad about finding her attractive, or make him do the math on when it was acceptable for him to express that. There was a line between the hospital and home. What Dagmar had meant as a throwaway comment that might open up a gripe about her day didn’t exactly translate well. She’d nearly forgotten how sensitive Draco was about making her uncomfortable. It had been a very long time since she last felt intimidated by the discrepancy between their experience. No such gap existed anymore.

“Well, when it happens at work, it’s just like everything I did to get where I am doesn’t matter,” Dagmar said. “Somebody sees I’m pretty, and that’s all I am. It doesn’t matter how smart I am. Doesn’t matter I have a boyfriend. I don’t like feeling like my only value is being a pleasant thing to look at. Maybe after everything with my family too lately, I’m just a little sensitive and insecure.”

Draco pressed his lips together before pulling her back up flush against him. All the skin contact was nice, further pushing Dagmar away from that mood. She melted just a little more when Draco kissed her cheek and nuzzled her neck afterward.

“I see your uniform for what it symbolizes,” Draco told her. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Dagmar’s face grew warm. “I know you are, and that’s how it’s different to me. You know me, and we’re sharing this life together.”

“I honestly don’t sexualize the uniform,” Draco told her with a fresh smirk. “It’s almost the opposite, sort of like our old school uniforms. I remember thinking once while watching you dress for class that you had no right looking that modest after you say such filthy things when we shag.”

Dagmar burst out laughing, although clapped a hand to her mouth because of how loudly it echoed in the shower. She kept on grinning anyway, nibbling Draco’s bottom lip while teasingly stroking him. His breathing grew deeper when Dagmar mentioned how much she’d missed having him.

He felt like velvet inside of her, when they made it back to the bed. Although Dagmar doubted Draco would last very long, he did his best to try. If he was getting close, he’d pull out and carry on briefly with his fingers. Dagmar was a little concerned about that since she wasn’t sure how much blood might end up on his hand. Dagmar didn’t see any until she headed back to the bathroom afterward to clean up. While she peed, Draco washed his hands and willy at the sink.

“Ah, ja,” Dagmar said. “The hottest part of the whole thing, right here.”

Draco snorted. “I don’t know, there might be something to that. I like you’re comfortable enough with me to no longer mind if I loiter around while you use the toilet.”

“Hard to care after how much your face has been all up in there. I think the mystery is long gone.”

Dagmar still bled a little bit, which at this point was just frustrating. She asked Draco to throw her a fresh pair of knickers when he dipped into the closet for pants. He leaned against the counter while Dagmar dressed her knickers for what was hopefully the last time this cycle.

“Thoughts on dinner?” Dagmar asked.

“I was thinking earlier I’d rather go out,” Draco said. “You know, celebrate our first week.”

“Sure.”

Dagmar certainly didn’t mind not cooking. She was hungry already, since they’d spent more time upstairs than expected. Taking a cue from Draco in how he dressed, Dagmar spent a little extra time making herself look like someone Draco deserved to be attached to. After a week wearing blouses and slacks in the morning and then her uniform in the afternoon, it was nice to slip into something as simple as a sundress.

Draco wore a nice shirt tucked into his slacks, although didn’t bother doing more than running a comb through his hair. He’d taken lately to leaving some stubble on his face as well. A little smirk emerged when Draco noticed Dagmar eyeing him in the mirror, and she grinned when he did the same in return.

They ended up at a pub Draco had been recommended by his older coworkers called Dragehode. It was off Trollmannsgaten’s main drag, down one of the side streets. It wasn’t totally packed on a Thursday, although Dagmar got to meet Big Swede since he happened to be there with his wife Netta. They all chatted until Big Swede and Netta’s food came.

“Let me get it,” Draco said later, when the check arrived.

Dagmar opened her mouth to argue, but held back when she tried to think of it in a new way. “My turn next time, then.”

“All right.”

Since he agreed, Dagmar couldn’t argue. She would’ve liked to know he intended to settle the bill before she ordered, even though fish and chips were among the least expensive items on the menu. With nothing worth fussing over, Dagmar just made an effort to let it go once she’d thanked him for dinner with a kiss on the cheek.

This weekend wasn’t the time to get hung up on money. Since Theo and Daphne would be arriving Wednesday, Dagmar and Draco planned on getting the cottage ready for guests. Blaise and Luca accepted the offer of staying over the night of Dagmar’s birthday (Milly could come for only the day), so both spare bedrooms needed to be sorted out. The amount of romer leaving Dagmar’s purse was yet again more than she was used to, but it did feel a little different when she and Draco would be expecting their first paycheques in less than a week. A few days after that, Dagmar would be receiving her next entitlement payment from the family estate. She hadn’t decided yet what to do with it, whether to leave it at Gringotts or move it up to Formue Bank in Bergen. After getting a good sense of how money moved in and out of her account, Dagmar didn’t feel as crippled with anxiety about it anymore. Draco seemed proud when Dagmar brought up the idea of buying a table for the deck.

Draco headed to work on Sunday morning, a little dejected that the weekend for him was over. Dagmar didn’t do anything exciting enough for him to be missing out. She started right away on the homework she’d neglected, and spent the afternoon studying until Draco came home. She started dinner while he showered, and then they planned out what they would eat while Theo and Daphne were there. They decided to worry about Dagmar’s birthday dinner closer to the time.

Monday and Tuesday flew by. Wednesday morning went slow because of Dagmar’s anticipation. Daphne had sent them an owl the day before to let them know she and Theo were in Oslo. Dagmar told them to come by the hospital during her lunch break so she could take them over to the cottage.

Dagmar grinned when she saw them sitting on the edge of the fountain with their bags at their feet. Daphne stood up just in time to catch a hug from Dagmar. Dagmar gave an equally tight one to Theo.

“Ahh, it’s been too long,” Dagmar said as she looked them over. Theo’s hair was longer than he’d usually have it, and Daphne’s green eyes stood out more with the darkening of her skin. Both dressed more like Muggles than wizards. “I can apparate you one at a time?”

With their agreement, Dagmar took Daphne and her things across the bay first, and then returned for Theo. She wished she had more time to spend with them than just the hour, but it was long enough to give them the tour, show them to the spare rooms so they could pick which one they wanted, and then change into her uniform.

“There’s food in the ice box, if you want to help yourself,” Dagmar told them on her way out. “See you after four.”


	17. Body Language

Harry’s leads were gradually drying up. He had yet to hear from Marit Norheim. Harry kept an eye on the messenger he shared with Malfoy and Ramstad, aware Ramstad had met with her uncle. She never said anything about it in the days after, piquing Harry’s frustration enough to vent to Hermione when she had him and Ron over to her flat for dinner (“She just started the wizarding equivalent of medical school. Give her a break,” Hermione had said).

Ramstad finally wrote something on the following Sunday: _Hey, Dagmar here. Sorry for the delay, I completely forgot I was going to give you an update if my uncle told me anything helpful. He didn’t really. My dad’s family knew my mum and I only so far back as Christmas 83 when they first heard about us. Turns out my dad and I weren’t actually related so make of that what you will. My mum told my dad’s family that she was raised in Britain and attended Hogwarts so big surprise, she’s just full of shit all around._

Harry laughed the first time he read it, but looked at it a little differently when he revisited the message. He wasn’t close to Ramstad, but he still felt bad for her. He thanked her for letting him know, anyway. Ramstad sent a follow-up saying that she didn’t know when she’d see her uncle again, but she’d pass anything potentially useful she might learn along if she did.

The seat at Harry’s desk was starting to develop the shape of his backside. A lull in his and Parasca’s investigation had given Parasca time to teach Harry some other stuff about the job. Compared to trips to Paris, Bergen, and Azkaban, the paperwork was incredibly dull. Harry’s mind drifted to Ginny’s upcoming get-together.

Ginny’s actual birthday was on the Tuesday of that week, which spared Harry and Ron having to think about dinner since they were invited to the Burrow. While there, Ginny pulled Harry aside and told him that she’d arranged for everyone to meet at seven on Saturday at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry said he’d go when she badgered him enough, but even up to Saturday afternoon he just wasn’t sure. It wasn’t until after five that he finally committed to making an appearance.

Harry flooed in to Diagon Alley and headed into the Leaky Cauldron. It was quieter than Harry expected. He couldn’t see anyone that he would associate as being here with Ginny. He took a seat up at the bar and accepted a pint of whatever was on tap. Harry positioned himself to better see anyone else that arrived. They were all cutting it close, but Harry figured it possible that Ginny and all the girls she invited intended to arrive in a single pack.

Parkinson came in from the direction of Diagon Alley. She looked around like Harry had, equally confused that nobody else was there. Their gazes met, and Harry started to sweat a little when Parkinson came over. Her perfume smelled nice. It suited her sundress, off-white with little red flowers on it. They were the same colour as her lipstick.

“Ginny invited you too?” she asked.

“Er, yeah.” Harry swallowed as Parkinson took the seat next to his. “We’re the first ones.”

“And here I thought I was running a little behind.” Parkinson tucked her hair behind her ear. The odd strand deviated from the rest, victims of the mild humidity from a warm day.

“How’s your summer gone?” Harry asked.

“Hardly noticed it, honestly,” Parkinson said with a chuckle. “My parents and I used to travel for most of it. Of course, they’re still going without me now, so I die of jealousy every time they come back from somewhere and want to show me all the pictures they took.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. I never got to go anywhere exotic, but I’ve seen a lot of pictures. Working too, it’s hard to believe that any other year we’d be on the train again in a couple weeks.”

“Some old faces have come in for new Hogwarts uniforms.” Parkinson leaned her elbow on the bar, bracing her head with a couple curled fingers. “The Muggle-borns going for their first year are so cute. They haven’t a clue. Whenever you use any kind of magic around them, they just light up.”

Parkinson did the same in imitation, making Harry smile. “I can’t say I was any different.”

“Oh, you were raised by Muggles, weren’t you?” As soon as Parkinson said that, her eyes widened a little and she blushed. “Ginny mentioned it. I’d never realized I had no idea where you went during summers, since you didn’t stay at Hogwarts.”

“It’s not allowed,” Harry said. “Yeah, I have some Muggle family. I didn’t know anything about the wizarding world until a month before we started our first year. I think Dumbledore didn’t want me to have a head so big I wouldn’t fit through the front doors.”

It was Parkinson’s turn to laugh. She even had pretty teeth, something Harry wouldn’t normally notice. A grin seemed to slide easily over them. “They didn’t tell you _anything?_ Not even that there _was_ a wizarding world? What about when weird things happened around you? That never got explained?”

Harry shook his head. How utterly befuddled Parkinson looked amused him.

“I’m having a hard time imagining that.” Parkinson was still trying, her eyes narrowed. “So, what did you do instead? Muggles put their young kids in school, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but it’s not boarding school.” Harry bit his tongue against saying he was surprised the Dursleys never sent him away like that in the first place. “You go for the day, and then go home.”

“Huh.”

“You just learned to read and write and all that at home, hey?” Harry asked. He’d heard some horror stories from Mrs. Weasley about her efforts toward that.

“Mhm,” Parkinson confirmed. “Of course, it was the most boring thing in the world when you know what’s waiting for you after you turn eleven. I was always trying to get away with accidentally doing magic at home. My father had a friend of his that works in the Improper Use office scare me about it. Oh how I _cried_ , ‘I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again, please don’t arrest me and throw me in Azkaban’.”

Since Harry had been to Azkaban, he wasn’t sure he found making a kid think they might wind up there funny. He laughed anyway. Surely, at that age, Parkinson wouldn’t have fully understood what prison was like. “Kind of like driving your kid to the police station because they refuse to put on their seatbelt.”

“Their what?”

A little wrinkle came between Parkinson’s eyebrows as Harry explained about the piece of fabric Muggle’s wore to keep them from becoming a projectile in a car accident, and how Muggle parents would use law enforcement as a threat. It was common for Muggle parents to not move the vehicle until the kid buckled up. If they really refused, the only place that vehicle was going was to the police station, and then they were _really_ going to be in trouble.

“My aunt did it to my cousin once,” Harry said after a beat of hesitation, for he didn’t really want to talk about the Dursleys. “It was pretty funny.”

Parkinson leaned on the bar again, holding her jaw. “He cried and put on a show, and all that?”

“Big time. It was a full-on theatric production.”

Parkinson laughed. In the lull of their conversation, Harry glanced around the pub, then at his watch. He frowned.

“Hm,” he said. “It’s quarter-past. Where _is_ everyone? Who all did Ginny tell you was coming?”

“Harper, Maya, Charlotte, Ruth. . .” Parkinson slowly trailed off as she too looked around. “Would Ginny really run late to her own party?”

Before Harry could answer to the negative because he knew Ginny to be punctual, colour rose up into Parkinson’s cheeks. Her eyes widened.

“Oh my god, there is no party,” Parkinson said in a small voice. “She set us up.”

Parkinson’s face turned beet red. Harry was still stuck on why Ginny would invite Seamus and Dean then, but of course that had probably just been a lie to ensure Harry came. He wouldn’t have, if he thought he would just be hanging out with a bunch of girls he didn’t know. He would’ve told Ginny a flat-out no if she suggested she arrange for Harry and Parkinson to meet up and see what happened.

“I am so sorry.” Parkinson looked on the verge of tears, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe—oh my god, this is so embarrassing. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find Ginny and kill her.”

“Hold on a second,” Harry said as Parkinson pulled out a little coin purse intent to pay for the beer she’d barely touched. When she slowed, her gaze hardly able to return to his, Harry’s heart picked up again with momentary anxiety. “I mean, we’re already here.”

Parkinson’s shoulders stiffened, and she narrowed her eyes. “Did you ask her to do this?”

“What? No,” Harry quickly answered. “I knew you were going to be here, but I figured I’d just be having a pint with Seamus and Dean. I didn’t expect this at all.”

Harry couldn’t tell if that was a good answer or not, regardless that it was the truth. He wondered if Ginny ever considered the possibility this might backfire. Parkinson clearly did not take to being tricked, and Harry wasn’t sure he liked it either. He at least had the luxury of knowing Parkinson fancied him. Parkinson had no idea that Harry was curious about her, in turn.

“Well, I’m sorry that wasn’t the case,” Parkinson stiffly replied, back to digging. “I can’t believe she did this to me. How utterly humiliating. Some friend she turned out to be.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. He didn’t want to be responsible for the blowout that might be coming Ginny’s way, even if she’d risked it. Ginny knew Harry was too shy—that’s why she’d done this in the first place to get them in the same room. If Harry didn’t do or say anything now, he most likely wouldn’t get another chance at Parkinson. Was he truly okay with that, for their tentative chemistry to be stomped out? Up until now, when they realized the reality of their evening, things had been going well.

“Look,” Harry quickly said before Parkinson could walk away in more ways than one. “I know why Ginny did it. I’ve been thinking about you a bit, and she knew I wouldn’t ever do something on my own. Doesn’t help we don’t cross paths much nowadays, so it’s not like anything could happen without one of us going out of our way. She wanted to spare us both the effort, I think.”

Putting himself out there like that was hard. Even if Parkinson _did_ fancy Harry, he could see a real chance she didn’t stick around anyway. She was still debating it—debating _him—_ although it was at least encouraging that she no longer frantically searched for a sickle.

“I don’t know.” Parkinson was still stiff. “Ginny should know better. She knows I have a lot of trust issues.”

“Me too. Happens after someone’s tried to do you in enough times.”

Parkinson hid a snort behind her hand. It almost looked like a little sneeze. “Sorry, that’s not funny.”

“Just saying.” Harry shrugged, managing a tight smile. “I get it, is all.”

She toyed with the skirt of her dress, considering Harry. “You really want me to stay, or are you just saying that to save me face?”

“I want you to stay,” Harry said.

Parkinson let out a long exhale. “All right. Er—let’s try this again, shall we?”

It didn’t really feel too different to Harry. He smiled regardless, trying to lower Parkinson’s raised defences. “For the record, I don’t like what Ginny did either, but I’ll admit I didn’t want to appear out of nowhere while you were working and maybe come off like a weirdo. Especially since that’s the only place outside school we’ve really talked.”

“Right.” Parkinson’s hand trembled a little as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s different, isn’t it? Well, even last year was. I didn’t expect to spend nearly the entire thing cozied up with Gryffindors.”

“I didn’t really expect to get on all right with Slytherins, either.”

“Do you mean Draco?” Parkinson asked. “I saw you talking a couple times.”

“Eh. . .” Harry’s uncertainty was more for talking about Parkinson’s ex to her. “I guess. I don’t mean to make it sound political, but it’s more about alliance than being mates or anything. Although, to be honest, I don’t know how much I should say about the whole thing.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mean to pry.” Parkinson reached for her beer. “I know there isn’t much trust for Slytherins. There are still some students with Death Eaters in their family.”

“It probably doesn’t hurt to say we kept an eye on those ones all year, and they seem in the clear,” Harry replied. “They all got done a little dirty, you could say.”

“Yeah.” Parkinson pressed her lips briefly. “Sorry, you probably can’t say, but you don’t know anything about Narcissa Malfoy, do you? I always really liked her, and it disturbed me she came up missing like that.”

“Erm. . .” Harry understood completely what Hermione meant now that ideally, for the sake of being open, he go with an Order member. “Listen, er. . .not that you probably don’t know this, but I kinda have to put out a disclaimer. If you know things that Voldemort might be interested in, it could put you in danger. Just being around me could. There could be someone sitting in here right now that works for Voldemort keeping an eye out. If he has spies in the Ministry, he has them in places like Diagon Alley too.”

“Yeah, I know.” Parkinson shrugged. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I cared. If You-Know-Who has people in Diagon Alley, then I’m sure you do too, don’t you? Like the Weasleys?”

“Still—”

“Don’t infantilize me, Potter,” Parkinson snipped. “I’m quite capable of making that sort of decision for myself. I took the same Defence and Charms classes as you, and I got Os in both. I can stand up for myself.”

“Okay,” was all Harry could say. “I just thought it worth saying, is all.”

“As if I had no idea before I sat down here.” Although Parkinson’s tone remained sharp, she was smiling again. “I’m sorry, you’re Harry _who?_ I didn’t catch the surname.”

Harry laughed. “All right.”

“That’s very noble of you, regardless,” Parkinson said. “I shouldn’t expect less from a Gryffindor.”

With all of that out in the open, Harry relaxed as their conversation steered back to less tenuous subjects. He really underestimated how much he would like to listen to somebody that hadn’t much to do with that part of his life. Maybe too because nerves still lingered for Parkinson, she was more than happy to tell Harry about the various places she had travelled in her life.

She eventually petered out, smiling anew in apology and slightly breathless. “Sorry, I don’t mean to go on. It’s not really a fair conversation topic when you’ve said you didn’t get to travel much.”

“The more reason to hear about it, really.” Even if Harry had nothing to contribute, he still appreciated the chance to look at Parkinson for long lengths of time without it being weird. “I went to Paris last month. Granted, only for a couple hours and I was inside the Ministry the whole time, but I still got to go there.”

“Paris is. . .” Parkinson laughed with a strained airiness. “It’s honestly quite dirty. I think it sees too much traffic because everyone expects it to be this big romantic city.”

“My aunt said that once about it,” Harry recalled. “She was watching a television programme about how some Japanese people idealize Paris so much that they get really upset when they actually go there, and it isn’t at all what they expect.”

“I can believe that,” Parkinson replied. “What’s a television programme?”

A look of wonder returned to her face as Harry explained the concept of a television. Parkinson was familiar with theatre since her parents had a strong affinity for things like plays, ballet, and opera, so it wasn’t too much a stretch of her imagination to put all of that into a box and make it fit for leisurely consumption.

Parkinson leaned on the bar again. “The Muggles get on quite all right without magic, don’t they? How does something like that work?”

“Well, kind of like the radio,” Harry said. “I don’t really know much about how electricity works, to be honest with you. It’s not something you learn in Muggle school as a little kid, just that it was a really important discovery and all that.”

“It just beams into their homes then, or what?”

“There are wires in the ground that carry it around.”

“Oh, really!”

Harry was so used to talking to people lately with some kind of purpose that he jolted upright a couple times with the sense he’d forgotten to ask something. Although his conversation with Parkinson had touched a few times on life on Voldemort’s radar, Harry felt that he was just some regular bloke sitting at a bar with a girl.

Because of that, it was really hard to let the night end. Nine o’clock passed Harry by like nothing. He paid more attention to if Parkinson was growing tired as the evening wore on. It made Harry feel weirdly proud that yes, she was, but she was doing her best to hide it. Coming up on ten o’clock, a new lull fell between them. Because it was a comfortable one, Harry regretted what he had to say next. It was inevitable, no matter how much they’d ended up enjoying themselves.

“The time kinda got away from us, didn’t it?” Harry asked.

“A little.” Parkinson shrugged. She only had about one more swallow left to her drink. Harry had had to pee for a while, but he hadn’t dared step away in case doing so somehow compromised the magic of the situation. “I’ll probably still kill Ginny next time I see her, but this ended up much better than the night I expected to have.”

“Definitely,” Harry agreed. “We could always do it again.”

He grew nervous regardless that they agreed on the evening’s quality. The warm smile that came over Parkinson was amplified by fresh colour in her cheeks. That same warmth budded again in Harry’s stomach to be looked at like that by someone who had taken the time to get to know him beyond his name.

“I’d like that,” Parkinson said.

“I could send you an owl about it then, or. . .?”

“I don’t think there’d be a problem either with popping in at Madam Malkin’s, if you happen to be in the neighbourhood,” she replied. “You were concerned about that?”

“Well, now that we’ve seen each other somewhere other than there, I wouldn’t be so worried to.” Harry chuckled. “It was more I didn’t want to be like hey, remember when you were nice to me while you were just doing your job? Well, here I am having misinterpreted that to see about it.”

“There wasn’t a whole lot to misinterpret on my part, honestly,” Parkinson said with a half-shrug. “I get that, though. It could’ve been really awkward.”

“I did kind of know. . .” Even though Parkinson had basically just said it, Harry still grew a little nervous to bring it up himself. “I mean, when we were still at Hogwarts, I wondered.”

“I figured you were too preoccupied to notice something like that.”

“I was definitely focused on getting through exams,” Harry confirmed. “Things changed when summer started, though. With Voldemort off in hiding again, it’s hard not to think maybe I don’t have to hide away either. I didn’t really start thinking about it until after that day in the shop, just to be totally honest.”

Parkinson grinned. “It was fun watching you try to play it cool.”

“I thought I did all right.”

“Not by a long shot.”

It was getting harder to fully end the evening as their conversation turned flirtatious. The bartender ended up being the linchpin in it all when he came by and asked if they wanted another top-up. They both hesitantly declined and reached for their money.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry told Parkinson. “I got it.”

“Oh—thanks.”

Harry couldn’t remember what exact number the bartender gave them thanks to his mind being elsewhere, but he was present enough to know a galleon covered their drinks with a decent tip left over. He and Parkinson migrated toward the back of the pub. As Harry walked beside her, he realized just how small she was. He had nearly a head on her in height, even at five-seven. He’d passively noticed when they sat together at the bar that Parkinson’s wrists were so small Harry could probably put his thumb and forefinger around one.

“I was just going to apparate home,” Parkinson said when they stopped. “As unexpected as it was. . .I had a good time.”

“Me too,” Harry replied. “See you later.”

“Mhm.”

Parkinson smiled one more time before she vanished in front of Harry with a small pop. The image of her lingered in Harry’s vision as he followed suit, concentrating on the parlour at Grimmauld Place. He was stuck between disappointment, since it was over, and elation that it had happened at all. Harry was already anxious about his next move toward it. He had no choice now but to be proactive. That it didn’t terrify him was a new concept.

Light spilled out from underneath Ron’s door on the second floor. Harry turned at the landing to carry on, but slowed when a dull thump preceded rustling. Ron’s door opened and he leaned out.

“I’m home,” Harry said needlessly.

“I see that.” Arms folded, Ron broke into a wide grin that reminded Harry how much time he spent with Fred and George nowadays. “How was the date?”

“Date?” Harry turned more to face him on the landing. “You were in on it?”

“Ginny wanted me to make sure you went.” Ron shrugged. “So, then?”

Harry didn’t have it in him to be mad. That didn’t mean he cared to be forthcoming. He let out a huff of breath and carried on up to his room with a shake of his head. Even if Harry couldn’t see it, he could sense Ron’s smug satisfaction following him to the next floor.


	18. The Northern Front

Draco considered himself lucky that the end of his workweek didn’t come with homework, like it did for Dagmar. To Dagmar’s credit, she tried so hard to focus on it through Thursday evening, just wanting it to be done and over with so that she could dedicate the rest of the weekend to turning eighteen. Her homework eventually ended up off to the side as Draco, Dagmar, Theo, and Daphne all sat outside on the lower deck. The rain pattered gently against the top deck above their heads.

“So did Astoria calm down a little with my letter, or no?” Draco asked Daphne.

“She’s still a little panicked,” Daphne replied, chuckling. “I don’t think she expected to get Captain.”

“She was the best pick.” Draco shrugged. “Prewett was just a little too young yet, and Luca will be gone after the next season. I figured Astoria would do best with two years at it. You know, on the assumption Snape went with my recommendation.”

“After the season we had, dunno why Snape wouldn’t trust your call,” Theo said.

“I got an owl from my mum when we were in Gothenburg.” Daphne sipped her drink, some blue cocktail she and Dagmar had put together. “She said Astoria is pouting about us all going to visit Nan and Granddad, so that’s distracting her a bit.”

When Daphne first mentioned that, Draco panicked because it meant he had a lot less time than he thought he would to talk to Theo about his dad. Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn, Daphne’s maternal grandparents, lived in Australia. Because it was so far away, Theo and Daphne weren’t expected home until the Christmas holidays.

“I might pout too,” Dagmar said with a sad smile. “That’s such a long time to go without seeing you. I also can’t imagine sending a poor owl that far for anything less than really bad or really good news.”

Daphne lit up. “We could always take a messenger, just to see. I’d be really curious to find out just _how_ much distance those will work over.”

“We could do that,” Draco agreed. “If we don’t get around to buying a pair by the time you guys head back to Britain, I’ll make sure we send you one before you leave.”

“I definitely want to keep up.” Daphne leaned forward on the table, idly stirring her drink. “I’m a little jealous. Since Theo and I decided to travel, we haven’t had a chance yet to live together. Do you know Mum had to convince my nan it would be all right for Theo and I to share a room?”

Draco laughed. “Of course you shouldn’t share a room. You’re not married yet.”

“You wouldn’t want to be tempted to make _eye contact_ or anything naughty like that,” Dagmar said.

“We might even hold hands or something.” Theo rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Could you imagine?”

Their laughter trailed off, after which Daphne spoke, “It’s all going good then for you two? Mum told me that starting to live together is one of the hardest things to do as a couple. You don’t have as much privacy as you used to, and there’s no use trying to hide anything.”

“I think it’s gone well so far.” Draco looked at Dagmar. She smiled and rubbed his forearm. “I expected more of an adjustment, to be honest. Living without house elves is definitely different. There’s a lot more to think about.”

“The important part for me is that you do,” Dagmar said. “We kind of just fell into the habit of doing everything we can for each other. It’s a much better motivator than cleaning your own home, or making your own food.”

“So, what’s next, then?” Theo asked. “Just gonna coast for a little while, or what? Being in an arranged marriage kinda makes you see things like this with an end-goal in mind.”

Draco hesitated to reply. He got his and Dagmar’s rings back from the jeweller, and they now sat tucked away while Draco came up with a game plan. If Dagmar had noticed her other ring return, Draco had no idea. She didn’t mention it, and Draco wouldn’t ask. It seemed like something that should stay unspoken until Draco figured out how and when he’d get down on his knee.

“Should we just as well tell them?” Dagmar asked Draco in Norwegian. She kept on when Draco’s brow furrowed, “The arrangement. I don’t see much point keeping it from anyone anymore.”

“Up to you,” Draco decided.

Dagmar hid a hesitation with a sip of her cocktail and switched back to English. “Not that I wouldn’t marry Draco anyway, but we were actually arranged.”

Daphne blinked. “I thought you were with Pansy and Blaise.”

“Our parents changed their minds,” Draco said. “They told us last summer.”

“That late?” Theo asked. “Why? You were already going with Pansy for a few years at that point, arrangement or not. Er—sorry, Dagmar, if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Dagmar waved it off. “They just wanted us to give it a chance and see what we thought. Since everyone knows my parents were Death Eaters now, it’s a little easier to explain. They started talking about it after Volde—sorry,” Dagmar backtracked when Theo and Daphne both visibly braced, “after You-Know-Who came back. They wanted to align closer underneath him.”

“Oh,” Daphne said after a moment.

“That must’ve been easy enough for you to end things with Blaise,” Theo mused, fiddling with his beer bottle. “You already knew he was into blokes, then? You two had some kind of agreement how that would work?”

“Nei. . .” Dagmar shifted, showing discomfort the same way that Draco felt it. “He didn’t tell me until later. In hindsight, I knew there was something standing between us. Blaise and I got on really well, and he’s a very attractive man. We just never clicked like that. Even now when it’s all behind us and Blaise and I agree we’re better off for it, I still feel bad.”

“I wouldn’t,” Daphne said. “You’ve seen what him and Luca are like. They try to be private, but. . .”

Draco chuckled along with the rest of them. He thankfully hadn’t witnessed anything more fervent than the one time up in the dorm, but certainly it had to happen. All Draco ever saw afterward was the standard hand-holding, and kiss before and after classes.

“How’d you figure all that out with Pansy?” Theo asked Draco, killing his amusement. “That must have been hell to untangle yourself.”

“It was,” Draco replied. “I was definitely the arsehole of the situation, though. I tried to be as considerate as possible, but there wasn’t really any way to do that. She even said to me later on that she had no idea how she was ever going to trust someone again. She thought I was showing up last summer with rings and all that, but I had to tell her I was backing out. I still feel like a twat when I think about it because of how everything went for her afterward.”

“I don’t know that you should,” Daphne said slowly with eyes slightly narrowed in thought. “A lot of what happened when we came back to school was her own doing. Maybe she got hurt, but her reaction was her own responsibility. I was relieved when she backed off from me and Milly. I never dared stand up to her.”

“Even then, doesn’t feel great to do that to someone.” Draco’s stomach sunk a little as his guilt about the whole thing reemerged. “I don’t think I was in love with her, but I did care about her. I wanted her to be happy. I tried to see it like I’d be sparing both of us by calling it off, but it took her so long to even accept it. She didn’t know about Dagmar, so until we were open about our relationship at school, Pansy just thought I was on my own.”

“Wait, so when did you two start going together, then?” Daphne asked.

“Erm. . .” Dagmar chuckled nervously as she and Draco glanced at each other. “We actually had our first anniversary last month. The nineteenth.”

Daphne’s lips parted. “You kept it to yourselves for _that_ long? So what were you doing at school, then? Just sneaking around?”

“Pretty much,” Dagmar said. “I wanted to keep it quiet because I didn’t want Pansy to go after me. Didn’t want anyone to think it weird Draco and I came back to school as a couple either, because people like Potter would maybe figure out from there my family was involved with You-Know-Who. He knew Draco’s father was.”

“But even after?” Daphne pressed. “Pansy never did anything to you. You didn’t even think you could tell _me?_ I wouldn’t have told her. You should know that.”

“I hate to bring up anything before last year because it really doesn’t matter to me now, but I was still a little iffy about you and Milly for a little while,” Dagmar said. “By the time Draco and I started being open about going together, it just didn’t matter anymore how we came to be. We didn’t part with our parents on good terms at the end of the summer, so it was hard to see the arranged marriage as actually that and not just us having used that to find each other.”

“There are a lot of things that seem obvious, looking back.” Draco rarely ever saw Daphne upset. Even then, not upset enough to say anything about it. Dagmar was starting to stiffen beside Draco, a sign she was about to go on the defensive. Lips pressed, Theo made eye contact with Draco. He wasn’t comfortable either about a potential fight. “It was just a shitty situation. First day of summer, my mum dropped all this on me. Dagmar and I didn’t even really talk before that. We had no relationship at all. I went in humouring the idea a bit, but it didn’t take long to start feeling something. I didn’t expect at all to fall in love, and definitely not so quickly.”

“Me neither.” Dagmar reached over and slipped a hand into Draco’s, squeezing. “I’m sorry, Daphne. Were it not for my parents, I could’ve told you. I didn’t want anyone to know what they were into. And. . .” Dagmar chewed briefly on her lip. “I guess it doesn’t matter if you know this either, but I’d rather you kept it to yourselves. Pansy didn’t do anything to _me_ , but she was the one that shut Heimr in that cabinet. She admitted it to me later on because she felt bad.”

Daphne’s face had already fallen, so there was nowhere else for it to go. “But he almost died.”

Dagmar nodded. “She nearly killed him.”

Leaned forward on the table with her chin cupped in her hand, Daphne’s wide gaze situated on the bay below. Her eyes’ green shade grew crisp as tears welled up. She sniffled when Theo rubbed her back.

“I can’t help but feel like a bad friend, even if I didn’t know anything.” Daphne wiped her cheek when a blink wet it. “I had no idea you were going through any of that. When everything came out about your parents, that was enough to feel awful about.”

“You weren’t a bad friend,” Dagmar reassured her. “I don’t think I would’ve gotten through it as well as I did without you— _all_ of you.”

“Still, I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to make it about me. It just kind of sucks to find out we weren’t as good of friends as I thought we were. That’s what I get for always having stood behind Pansy when she was being mean to you, I guess. I’m lucky you even gave me a chance at being friends after that. I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” Dagmar swallowed in a telltale way. “That’s why I’m telling you now. Other than just being honest with you two, it really doesn’t matter. Nobody thought it strange Draco and I gravitated toward each other, so we never had to answer for anything. Blaise knew because I figured I owed him the courtesy of a heads up, considering our past.”

“Plus him and Draco are mates.” Theo wiggled a couple fingers in Draco’s direction. “Merlin. Your parents really did you a solid, didn’t they? It’s good you two get on all right and all, but that sounds like a lot of hassle to go through for each other.”

Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand again, tighter this time. “He’s worth it.”

Theo snorted, which helped ease Daphne back into a lighter mood. She smiled again while straightening herself out. Her gaze softened when Dagmar rested her head on Draco’s shoulder, prompting him to put his arm around her.

“So I guess that answers whether or not you’re going to get married,” Daphne said. “Any idea when? It’s not as clear for you as it would be for us. I actually kind of wish we thought ahead and got married _this_ summer instead. Oh well.”

“Erm. . .” Draco felt his cheeks warm to be put on the spot. “Not sure. We’re not in any rush.”

“I won’t bother asking about kids, then. Same answer, I wager.”

“It’s all up in the air,” Dagmar said while Draco struggled how to provide an answer for that. “For now, we’re just enjoying living together. My Healer program isn’t very intense yet, but it’s going to get that way. I’ll probably finish that before we get too serious about any next steps we take. We’ll see, though.”

Mentioning her program transitioned the conversation away. Draco much preferred to talk about work—about the present—because going too far into the past made for a quick reminder all that remained unspoken between him and Theo as fellow children of Death Eaters. Draco had no real idea where Theo stood on everything except that he worried about his dad.

Dagmar seemed equally relieved to get off the subject. She was still a little quiet later on, when the two of them laid in bed together.

“I hate dwelling on the past like that,” she said when Draco asked. “Can’t say it’s been a fun place for me lately. I’d rather look back fondly where I can.”

“It’s hard to talk about the future too,” Draco replied. “They don’t know my mum is in hiding. They think she’s missing. So if I say we’re waiting until she gets home to get married, that’s either really sad if they think I’m in denial about her, or it might open a conversation I still don’t know how to have with Theo.”

“Right.” Dagmar scratched Draco’s back. “Not that I want to add any pressure, but do you think you’ll get to it before they leave for Australia?”

“Ideally, I’d do it before they leave here Wednesday, but I don’t know. I have to try. Even if Mr. Nott can’t do anything for Dumbledore, if he wants out, I’d want that for him.”

Dagmar idly nodded.

Draco nudged her. “All right?”

“Ja, just. . .thinking.”

“What about?”

She shook her head, lips pressed enough to disappear. That Dagmar’s gaze roamed their bedroom rather than focused on Draco made him nervous. Maybe he’d said something earlier that didn’t sit right with her.

“I just want to say as a preface that I can always tell when I’m ovulating,” Dagmar said with a mirthless chuckle. “There’s a twinge with it, but my thoughts change too. ‘Get a boyfriend, have a baby.’ It’s only been the second part since we started going together. I’m pretty good at ignoring it, since I had it set in mind that that wouldn’t be happening for me.”

Draco’s heart picked up. He tried to wrestle it back into a calmer state because he had no idea which way this conversation was about to go. “What’s bringing this up?”

“Daphne mentioning it earlier. I’ve had this feeling before, whenever she talks about having Theo’s babies.”

Draco studied Dagmar. “Are you thinking you might change your mind?”

“It’s not really that I would change my mind,” Dagmar replied. “I just didn’t think it was something I should do. With the things I’ve learned about my mum lately—about myself—I wonder if that’s what I was feeling all that time. If there’s nothing actually wrong with me, if something’s just different, then what would the issue be?

“The only thing I can really think is that we started our relationship based on the agreement we wouldn’t have kids.” Even in near-darkness, Draco could see Dagmar’s wariness to say that. “That’s kind of a big thing to revisit.”

“What I said then is still true now. I could go either way. I don’t want to get too invested in the idea though, if you’re just thinking about it.”

“I don’t really know,” Dagmar said. “This is one of those things that I would usually have just kept to myself while I sorted it out, but it feels like something we should discuss before we get engaged. I don’t know what the timeline is on that, so it’s better I bring it up sooner than later. It’s the kind of thing that can make or break a relationship.”

“What’re you thinking, then?” Draco asked. “You say things change about what you want when you’re ovulating, so where’s your head at any other time?”

“I don’t really think about it.” Dagmar shrugged. “That doesn’t really mean anything, though. We’re not at a place in our lives where, even if we were planning on a family, we would start one.”

“No, I agree.”

“I’ve been dealing with a lot of family stuff lately, so I think that’s maybe a factor too.” Dagmar pushed the blanket further down her waist before resting her hand again on Draco’s side. “I just don’t know if it’s muddying the waters, so to speak. I’ve lost a lot lately. My dad died, and I’m not sure I feel much of a kinship to the Ramstads anymore. Our friends feel like family, but even if we stay close, it’ll be different when we aren’t all living together for most of the year. It’s probably natural I’d want to fill that void with something else.”

“Yeah.”

“I literally have no blood relatives other than my mum.” Dagmar’s face lengthened. “I’m pretty sure me and her are done. We just have nowhere to go. Even if we did, it’s kind of hard to try for a relationship when she’s in Azkaban. My parents failed me, but I could try again a different way. I could have the control this time. I could make sure it’s done right.”

“Really, you could say that’s irrelevant,” Draco told her. “You don’t have to justify the decision either way. All that matters is if you personally want a family. Do you?”

“Ja.”

Draco’s stomach flipped pleasantly, especially since she answered so quickly.

“I’m just scared,” Dagmar followed with. “It’s a new idea still. I might go back and forth, but I’m pretty sure ultimately it’s true. Just not now. I want to finish my program, and maybe work for a bit. I feel like I have a lot of emotional stuff I need to figure out first. I want to make sure I’d be worthy of it. It hurts too much when parents fail for me to put my own through that.”

“Don’t I know it. I’d never hit them, for all that made me feel about my father. I love him and all, but it’s not a soft kind of love. It’s a fearful one.”

Dagmar studied Draco, her lips going into a slow press. She came closer so that she could envelop Draco in a tight hug.

“So. . .is it safe for me to get excited about this?” Draco asked.

Dagmar nodded against Draco’s shoulder. “I just have a small request.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t press me on it.” Dagmar released Draco enough for them to lay eye to eye again. “I know you’ll be ready before me, even if it’s not for a few years. I can’t say I’m totally excited right now about the idea of sharing my body for nine months, and then squeezing a baby out of my fanny. It might be a tough call to make, even if I want what comes after that.”

“No, that’s all your call, since it’s your body,” Draco agreed. “It’ll just be a conversation, right?”

“It’s going to be a big conversation. This is more than just us. We need to make sure we’re on the same page on how to go about it.” Dagmar rubbed Draco’s hip. “I’m glad you don’t like the idea of corporal punishment. My parents never hit me and I came up all right, so I don’t see the point. I think the emotional distance is what harmed me. At least by the time Mum and Dad started doing that, I was mature enough to finish bringing myself up.”

“I got that from my father too. We can do better.”

Dagmar smiled. She trailed her hand up Draco’s arm to come to rest on his neck. Her thumb skimmed his cheek. “Well, if you treat whatever kids we might have even half as well as you treat me, you’ll be a good father.”

A glow emerged in Draco’s stomach, slowly spreading at the compliment. “You’ll make a good mum too then, based on that.”

Even in minimal light and with Dagmar’s back to the open balcony doors, Draco could see red blotches emerge in her cheeks. She slid a leg over Draco as she kissed him. The glow that imbued Draco ramped up quickly to heat. Thinking about Dagmar using her body to create new life fanned the flames. Rolling them so that Draco was on top of Dagmar was a decent start at working that out.

As strongly as Draco felt, it wasn’t the kind of situation to go at Dagmar with no holds barred. They fell instead into a rhythm Draco knew would fare Dagmar well in this mindset. Sure enough, her hips rolled with him, and nails dug into Draco’s back and sides. She sounded so sweet and vulnerable. Draco held her through as dizzying tightness around him compelled Dagmar to press her face into the crook of his neck. Her attempt to muffle herself might have spared any noise carrying downstairs to Theo and Daphne, but such raw pleasure right next to his ear raised gooseflesh down over Draco’s spine.

It didn’t do much to work the affection out of Draco, but nothing ever completely did. He stuck close to Dagmar the next day as the two of them showed Theo and Daphne properly around Bergen. The only place they didn’t bother with was the reserve, since Luca had enthusiastically accepted the offer to take a look around there Sunday morning. Dagmar and Daphne came with Draco down to Den Sultne Jotunn for noon on Saturday, when they’d planned to meet Blaise, Luca, and Milly. After chatting for a good while next to the fountain, Draco led Blaise and Luca back to the travel room while Dagmar, Daphne, and Milly headed into Trollmannsgaten for a girls’ afternoon.

The accidental kip Theo fell into on the couch ended abruptly as they all flooed back up. Theo tagged along as Draco showed Blaise and Luca to the second spare room. Draco needed to nip very quickly to a bakery in Trollmannsgaten. When Draco returned home with Dagmar’s blotkake, Theo was in the middle of making tea for Blaise and Luca. They all sat at the island, watching Draco go about preparing dinner.

Cooking for seven was a much more daunting task than Draco was used to. Thankfully, Dagmar had picked simple courses. She only wanted fruit, bread, and pickled herring for appetizers, then a garden salad followed by Yorkshire pudding with mashed potatoes and gravy. The ice box was already well-stocked with the night’s drinks, thanks to Theo and Daphne’s help at the liquor shop.

“You cook a lot now, or what?” Theo asked as Draco washed lettuce. “Never saw that as something you’d be interested in.”

“Not like it’s hard.” Draco shrugged. “You were all in Potions and Herbology. Same principle, less fickle ingredients.”

“I don’t really cook,” Blaise admitted with a small smile. “I get home late most days, and it’s too hard to motivate myself. Someone has to keep the restaurants in Diagon Alley afloat, right?”

“Could’ve just stayed at your mum’s house, couldn’t you?” Theo asked.

“She wouldn’t have minded, but I didn’t want to,” Blaise replied. “I wanted my own place. Plus, no awkwardness or inconvenience if Luca’s there.”

“I don’t even know if I’ll bother setting up my room at Mamă’s.” Luca chuckled. “I’ve only really been there once since I got back from Romania. She works too much, anyway.”

“No more than Blaise, wouldn’t she?” Draco asked.

“Da, but it’s more exciting when Blaise comes home.” Luca leaned over to nuzzle Blaise’s shoulder. “I’ve been studying while he works, so it works out all right. I’m not totally looking forward to going back, though. It’s not going to be the same there without all of you.”

“To be fair, we’re all in a similar boat,” Blaise said. “Theo and Daphne gone to Australia, Milly’s got some crazy schedule for Quidditch camps, you at Hogwarts, then Draco and Dagmar here. . .”

“Bergen isn’t really that far from London,” Draco told him. “It wouldn’t be hard to see each other on a regular basis if we tried for it.”

“Things should start settling now, huh?” Blaise sipped his tea. “I’m getting more comfortable with my job. It’s still a little strange spending so much time with Muggles.”

“What do you do with Muggles?”

“Coordinate currency exchanges,” Blaise said. “I spend most mornings at the Bank of England. You thought pureblood wizards like the Malfoys were snooty.”

“Oh, come on, mate,” Draco spoke over the three of them laughing.

The kitchen was starting to smell good as the roast in the oven came up. While Draco dickered about when to start the potatoes, the fireplace whooshed and three very giggly women joined them in the kitchen. Dagmar and Daphne had some nice nails to show off, but Milly’s remained plain.

“No point,” she said when Luca asked. “I’m back on the field tomorrow. The manicure and pedicure were nice, though. Training in general is a little hard on the body.”

“What’s that like for a professional team?” Draco asked.

“Bit of a shock to start.” Milly slid onto the empty stool beside Luca. “There’s a lot more to do on the ground. Conditioning, strength training, all that. The first mile-run about killed me, and all us newcomers are expected to be able to run five within half an hour by October. I can do it in an hour now, but it’s a struggle.”

As Milly explained all the science of conditioning (Draco tried to keep a head about the percentages of body fat and oxygenation), Dagmar and Daphne headed upstairs. Milly nodded when told she knew where to find them if she wanted, but she seemed more in her element here. Draco had wondered once in a while since the beginning of summer what he might be missing after turning down an invitation to try out for Puddlemere United. He was growing more glad by the minute that he was where he’d wound up.

“You know, pretty much everyone up at Jotunheimen plays Quidditch,” Draco said. “Maybe before Luca heads back to Hogwarts, we should all have a game or something. There’s a pitch here that the amateur league uses. I could look into renting it for an evening.”

“I’d come.” Milly leaned forward on her elbows. “Season’s started, but our first game isn’t until the thirtieth.”

“That’s a Sunday, isn’t it?” Draco asked. “Ugh, it’s my first one on night shift. I’d have to be at work for midnight, but a game before on Saturday evening could work.”

“What about this coming weekend, then?”

“I’ll see what I can figure out at work.” Draco stuck a fork in one of the potatoes to see if they were cooked through yet. He looked at Blaise and Luca over his shoulder. “If I send just one of you an owl, you’ll both get the message?”

Theo laughed a little nervously next to them. “I might sit this one out. Could I still come and watch, though? Daphne and I could give Astoria a nudge to see if she’s up for something.”

“Oh, do it!” Luca’s eyes lit up. “Say, is there anyone from Durmstrang at Jotunheimen? I might know them if they played.”

“Masha Petrova.”

Luca’s grin widened. “She was a really good Chaser. I’d be more than happy to play against her again. I wonder if she remembers me.”

“We’ll find out.” Blaise nudged him, smile fond.

The food was getting close to done. Milly volunteered to go upstairs and let Dagmar and Daphne know to wrap up whatever they were doing. Meanwhile, Draco had Blaise, Luca, and Theo help him take the appetizers out to the deck (they’d moved the big table up from down below). Draco dipped back inside to grab wine as the women were coming downstairs. Dagmar and Daphne both looked great after all their preening. Combined with the weight of everything Draco felt lately for Dagmar, his feet stuck to the floor and all he could do was stare. He’d thought in a passing way earlier that the colour of her nails matched the blue of her eyes. It seemed intentional now as she wore a sundress the same colour as well. Daphne giggled and Milly snorted as they carried on past Draco to join everyone else on the deck.

Dagmar stopped in front of Draco. “I was going to ask if I looked all right, but. . .”

“Absolute showstopper.”

With a snort of her own, Dagmar invited herself closer with arms around Draco’s middle. “Daphne’s better at makeup than I am.”

Draco always thought Dagmar to be stunning, but whatever Daphne had done to her was a rare sight for Draco to behold. Even though Dagmar wore lipstick, she didn’t oppose to a little canoodling.

Theo snickered when they joined everyone else, tapping his bottom lip. “You got a little something, Draco.”

Dinner itself went pretty well, Draco thought. It was a bummer to see Milly off not too shortly after, but she got up with the sun everyday as part of her training. Wine continued to flow afterward, and Draco was far from the only one with a fuzzy brain when they all wandered off to bed close to midnight. Draco was asleep in the bed before Dagmar had even finished removing her makeup. He woke up briefly in the middle of the night and took the opportunity to curl up against her back. He was alone in the bed again come morning as Dagmar made breakfast for everyone.

Blaise and Luca stuck around long enough into the afternoon for a private tour of Jotunheimen. Draco had to be back up there at four for work. He spent the quieter parts of his first evening shift debating how he might approach Theo. His and Daphne’s departure on Wednesday felt a lot closer on this side of Dagmar’s birthday.

Since Dagmar had class in the morning, she was asleep when Draco came home after midnight. His attempt to slip in unnoticed after a shower failed. All Dagmar managed was a sleepy greeting before a lazy snog evened her breath back out. Draco wasn’t far behind. He woke up alone again in the morning, but Dagmar was still there. She was dressed as far as her slacks and bra as she did her hair and makeup in the bathroom mirror.

“Aw, I was trying not to wake you,” she said when she noticed Draco watching her.

Draco shrugged. “I could always have a kip before work.”

Since Daphne and Theo weren’t up yet, Draco ended up going back to bed after Dagmar left. The luxury of sleeping in after two weeks of days was a definite perk of the afternoon shift. It only bummed Draco that, other than when he got home and when Dagmar got up in the morning, he basically wouldn’t see her until Friday.

Daphne and Theo were out on the deck when Draco found them, close to lunchtime. Draco’s mind still ticked away in regards to Theo, his heart picking up with anxiety when Daphne excused herself at one point for a shower. If not now, then when?

“If you wouldn’t mind, actually,” Draco said when Theo made a not-so-joking comment about following her in there, “there was something I wanted to run by you.”

Theo tilted his head a little, curious. “What’s that?”

“Bloke stuff,” Draco replied.

He had the excuse ready about asking how to propose if either Theo or Daphne pressed, but they didn’t. Daphne just shrugged and kissed Theo on the cheek before heading on inside.

Theo watched her through the window until she was no longer visible. “What’s up, then?”

“I’ve been meaning to catch up with you on this for a while,” Draco said. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”

“No. . .” Theo eyed Draco warily. “Why, is something going on? You wouldn’t be asking like this if he was in trouble or something. Right? It’d be more urgent?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Draco waved the idea off. “Just curious. Last I heard was that your dad had wanted out for a while.”

Theo pressed his lips together, his gaze traveling over the tabletop in discomfort. His shoulders rose slightly, tense. “Well, I think so, anyway. He didn’t say anything like that. Just that he’s tired of it. We don’t talk about it. He knows I’m staying out as best I can. Why?”

“I might know of a way out for him, if he’s interested,” Draco said. “He would just have to talk to Dumbledore.”

“To Dumbledore?” Theo’s mouth wrinkled along with his brow. “Why? What does Dumbledore want?”

“He’s been working with defected Death Eaters. He can get them out, keep them safe. I don’t even think they have to have information, so your dad wouldn’t have to take that gamble.”

“How do you know this?” Theo lifted his chin. “So maybe I wasn’t imagining things when I saw you talking to Potter a few times at school.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready for all this war business to be over.” Draco fiddled one-handedly with his teacup. “This isn’t well-known and I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself—and Daphne I guess, I don’t suppose you two keep secrets—but my mum’s in hiding. I don’t know where, I just know she is. She’s not coming back until this is all over, so you could say that’s a bit of a motivation.”

“So you’re actually working against my dad right now, then.”

“Not if he wants out,” Draco said.

Theo pressed his lips again. Draco got the impression he might already be shutting down about the topic. Theo’s pointed focus on the bay was far beyond how interesting it actually was.

“You could run it by him anyway.” Draco shrugged. “It’s up to you. I’d rather it be up to _him_ , but. . .I don’t know. I don’t mean to put you in a spot with it. I’ve been where you are, and I’d hate to see you have to deal with anything like me or Dagmar have.”

“I don’t need a reminder my dad might get killed, thanks.” Theo’s tone shortened. “I’d also appreciate it if you don’t try to manipulate me. Maybe you don’t have anything to lose anymore, but I do.”

“That’s what I’m concerned about.”

“Don’t.” Theo shook his head, gaze drilling into Draco. “Trying to get out doesn’t go so well, does it? Look what happened to Crabbe and Goyle with their dads. I shouldn’t have to bother rattling off a list of all the other ones from over the years. You know their names as well as I do. Regulus Black, Karkaroff, just for starters. Was Mr. Ramstad one of them too?”

Draco made good work of his bottom lip. This conversation wasn’t going where he wanted it to at all. “He was offered the chance—him and Hildegard—but they didn’t take it.”

“So you know someone has literally died in this process, and yet you think it’s what my dad should do?”

“People get out too. Crabbe and Goyles’ dads did. They’re at a safe house, waiting to be relocated.”

“Tell me then, from your experience. How great is it to have a parent in hiding?”

“It sucks.”

“So why would I want that for my dad?” Theo asked. “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t try to use my dad as a way to get your mum back. I’m sure you miss her and all, but come on, mate. How’d you actually think this was going to go?”

Draco shrugged. “Thought I’d put it out there. Maybe your dad was waiting for something like it. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

“Just leave him alone. He doesn’t need to be put in any unnecessary danger. You think You-Know-Who wouldn’t know he was thinking about that? He’s one of the greatest Legilimens in the world. Whatever my dad’s doing, I’m sure he’s got it figured out.”

“So what’re you going to think then if he gets caught in the crossfire?” Draco’s stomach soured. “Me and Dagmar have been down this road, Theo. We were staying out of it. So much for that. All of a sudden Dagmar’s dad is dead, her mum and my father are in prison, and it’s been almost a year now since the last time I saw my mum. There _is_ no staying out. Not so long as people we love are stuck in this. The question you need to answer is what side do you want your dad on when this is all over? Do you want him dead? In Azkaban? I’ve been there, you know. There are plenty of empty cells.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed, his breath coming hard. He pushed his chair away from the table and headed for the kitchen door.

“Theo,” Draco called after him. He followed, catching up as Theo passed the kitchen island by for the back of the house. “Okay, let’s drop it.”

“Bit too late, mate.” Theo’s voice shook. “I’m serious, you leave my dad alone. Anything ever happens to him, I’ll be looking right at you.”

“I can’t control anything Dumbledore or Potter do.”

“You wouldn’t have talked to me first, if that was the case,” Theo shot back. “If you needed my permission first or just to feel it out, then I say no. Leave him alone.”

Draco threw his hands up. “All right.”

It did little, if anything at all, to placate Theo. He carried on to the back of the house, his knuckles sharp on the bathroom door. While Draco lingered in the kitchen, he heard the door open after Theo had said Daphne’s name sternly enough.

“Get dressed and get your things together,” Theo told her. “We’re leaving.”

“What?” Draco said it at nearly the same time as Daphne. He moved to the mouth of the hallway. Daphne closed the door a little more to obscure herself, wrapped up in a towel. “Theo, quit taking the piss. You don’t have to be like that.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” Theo looked back at a confused and alarmed Daphne. “I’m serious, get your things.”

He headed into the bedroom they’d been staying in. Daphne looked on after him, lips parted, before closing the bathroom door again. Draco headed into the room where Theo hastily gathered strewn clothes. “Come on, mate. I’m sorry.”

“Only because you didn’t get what you want,” Theo replied. “Leave me alone. Tell Potter he can suck my willy.”

The bathroom door opened again, and Daphne emerged haphazardly dressed. Her tank top and shorts were wet in spots where she hadn’t been properly dry before putting them on. Draco moved out of the way for her, but she didn’t go much further in than where he stood.

“Get on with it, Daphne,” Theo told her.

“What happened?” Daphne asked. “Why do we have to leave? I don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you when we get back to London.”

“I’m not going anywhere. What happened?”

Draco crossed his arms, leaned against the door frame. When Theo gestured aggressively in his direction, Draco sighed through his nose. “I offered his dad a way out of the Death Eaters, and Theo seems under the impression I’m trying to get him killed.”

“You’re comfortable with that chance,” Theo snapped.

Daphne blinked at Draco. Draco was just about to push off the door frame and resign to giving them space to pack when Daphne looked back to Theo. “You’re not even going to consider it? Or discuss it?”

“What’s there to discuss?” Theo asked. “This is how Dagmar’s dad died, and he thinks we should go through the same thing? No way.”

Daphne toyed with her fingers in front of her stomach. “I thought you wanted him out.”

“I do, but this is obviously not the way.” Theo fastened the bag he worked on shut. “If my dad’s going to get out, he needs to do it on his own.”

“That’s all I was trying to give him,” Draco said, growing more exasperated than angry since Daphne seemed on his side. “If he just needs someone to reach out to, let it be Dumbledore. Who better?”

Although Theo wouldn’t look at either Draco or Daphne, he was starting to lose steam.

“Theo?” Daphne hesitantly prompted him. When he didn’t reply, she drifted closer to Draco. “Can we have a minute?”

Draco nodded and headed back down the hall. Daphne closed the door. In the kitchen, Draco heaved a sigh. He rubbed his face, suddenly tired. He really hadn’t intended for things to go this way, but now he figured he knew why subconsciously he kept putting it off. Draco couldn’t really say that he’d reacted any differently all the times Potter prodded him through the last school year. Draco had a dim hope that Theo might be more receptive, given this came from a mate.

For something to busy himself with, Draco worked on putting together dinner for himself. His stomach lurched when the back bedroom door opened again.

Theo emerged, sullen. He leaned against the wall by the pantry. Daphne came out behind him and rested a hand on his lower back.

“Can we try again, then?” Theo stiffly asked.

“Sure.” Draco gestured at the island. He was still a bit uncertain, but a flash of a smile from Daphne was slightly encouraging. “I’ll just say this first. I’ve been where you are. Potter bugged Dagmar and I a few times last year at school. He was keeping an eye on us, you know.”

“Us as in you and me?” Theo replied.

Draco nodded. “You, me, Dagmar, Crabbe, and Goyle. The ones they knew were children of Death Eaters. Well, the Ramstads were only suspected to be then, but I guess Crabbe and Goyles’ dads gave Dumbledore their names when he asked who they were working with.”

“So they sold them out.”

“Not in a bad way, is the thing.” Draco leaned over the island and folded his arms. “Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle corroborated their information by giving Dumbledore each the same memory. They figured from that that Erik and Hildegard weren’t Death Eaters by choice. Dumbledore thought if he offered a hand, maybe they’d see they had an out. Whatever they were working with You-Know-Who on was important, so they might have crucial information. You-Know-Who had too strong a hold on them, though. That’s why things went bad. Erik summoned backup, and then he got killed in the chaos.”

“Hm.” Theo rubbed his mouth.

“I don’t think Dumbledore means to approach your dad after that,” Draco said. “They wouldn’t have involved you and me if they did. When they were preparing to talk to the Ramstads, Potter came to me and Dagmar first. We, er—well, we basically did what you just did. Told him to sod off. He said things were happening anyway with or without us, so why bother getting involved, we thought. This time, I think Dumbledore wants to put it in your dad’s hands. Nobody could’ve predicted how things were going to go with the Ramstads, and Dumbledore doesn’t want to make that mistake again. So since you and I are mates, they put it up to me just to pass the message along.”

“I really don’t want to get involved,” Theo replied. “It’s hard to stay out of it when it’s family. You know that, I guess. It was fine while we were in school, but I’m trying not to spend much time at home, now we’re all out. I’m lucky the Greengrasses still like me, even though they know about my dad being in with him.”

Daphne slipped her hand into Theo’s. “After that interview Potter did in fifth year, my parents gave me the option of having them end our arrangement without me having to get involved. If I didn’t know for sure Theo wanted nothing to do with all that, I probably would have.”

“I’ll give it to you straight, mate,” Theo kept on. “No matter how much things changed with you in the last year, it’s hard to know where you sit on everything. It’s easier to fall in than get out.”

“You and Potter have something in common.” Draco tried his hand at a joke in the tentative mood. “He doesn’t trust me either.”

Theo exhaled in place of a chuckle. “You talk to him often, or. . .?”

Draco shrugged. “When he needs something. He took Dagmar and I to Azkaban so we could talk to our parents, see if they gave anything up. My father’s too arrogant though, and Dagmar’s mum was too scared. They both said basically that this war is far from over, even if it’s quiet for now.”

That seemed to sit as well with Daphne and Theo as it did Draco. They shared an uneasy glance, lips pressed.

“I don’t like to involve you at all, even just this much,” Draco said. “It’s been on my mind to talk to you since April or so, but. . .I don’t know. I thought about talking to your dad at graduation, but it wasn’t a time for it either. He was lucky he was even allowed at Hogwarts, all considering, and I didn’t want to infringe on that.”

“Yeah.” Theo nodded slowly. “So—you said Potter was watching us? For what? To see if we joined?”

“They figured out pretty quickly none of us were involved. Potter and I talked in November, I think it was. Yeah, it was just a few days before our Quidditch game. He asked me if anyone in Slytherin seemed off, but I said no because nobody was. Dumbledore said later that I was basically just confirming what Potter already knew.”

“Hm.”

There wasn’t really much else to the conversation after that. Draco was okay with it. He’d said what he needed to, and Theo no longer seemed inclined to leave early. Draco only wished he had a way to inform Dagmar of what she might be coming home to. He would be leaving for work less than twenty minutes before she got home.

Draco dipped into the office to grab the messenger he shared with Potter and took it upstairs as he dressed for work. He opened it across his bedside table and dashed off a quick message:

_Talked to Theo about his dad. It went a little rough and I’m not sure if he’ll pass it along that Dumbledore’s open to working with him. I guess we’ll find out. Theo and Daphne are back on the road in September so he has a few weeks to think about it._


	19. Olive Branch

Harry hadn’t gotten much further on the Norheim case. He appreciated being able to modify his lead list, thanks to Malfoy:

_\- Marit Norheim (Trondheim): inquiry owl sent July 6th, no response yet  
_ _\- Wesley Nott (London): Malfoy talked to Theodore Aug 17th. Theodore leaving for Australia ~Sept 4-5th, will hopefully tell Malfoy either way if he talked to his dad   
_ _\- Lucius Malfoy (Azkaban): knows everything but will not talk. No leverage yet  
_ _\- Hildegard Ramstad (Azkaban): knows everything but will not talk. New possible leverage that she’s a druid  
_ _\- Narcissa Malfoy (location unknown): may know some things but is radio silent. Has not made contact with anybody since going on the run March 19th  
_ _\- Elodie Marigot (Paris): keeping an eye out for Norheim in France  
_ _\- Magnus Norheim (location unknown): knows everything but cannot be found  
_ _\- Dagmar Ramstad (Bergen): may know things but is unaware of them. Has personal stake in uncovering Hildegard’s background. Has remained open thus far about what she knows_

Harry stared at the page. He’d tried with the weekend to abstain from it so that he could come back with fresh eyes. His accidental date with Parkinson had helped to distract him.

“Hey,” Harry said to Parasca as an idea occurred to him through it all. “Got a minute?”

“Minutes are all I have.” Parasca chuckled. “What’s up?”

“Nothing to do with leads, but I just thought about some information we never really got,” Harry replied. “Kingsley was the one in charge when the office approached Hildegard and Erik about defecting away from Voldemort. I’d never question that he’s telling the truth about events and all that, but maybe there could be something to be gained from seeing it for ourselves. We should ask for his memory of it when he returns.”

“His memory,” Parasca mused as she leaned back thoughtfully in her chair. “Do we have a way to view it?”

“Doesn’t the Ministry have a pensieve laying around?”

“We’d have to ask. They’re rare, but it’s possible.”

Harry shrugged. “If not, I’m sure Dumbledore would let us use the Hogwarts pensieve.”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t, for something potentially important,” Parasca said. “Shoot, if I knew we had something like that at our disposal, I might have suggested Kingsley’s memory sooner.”

“Sorry.” Harry took for granted that Dumbledore had it, and that it was something a former professor would be familiar with. “He must’ve had it put away if you were ever in his office.”

“Must have.” Parasca smiled. “Oh well, better late than never the idea occurred to us. Add that to your lead list, and we’ll waylay Kingsley when he’s back from vacation.” 

Harry nodded. That would be Monday, so long as Kingsley returned from across the Atlantic on time. He wasn’t on leave for the purpose of winding down so much as he took a trip on mingled work and Order business. Until the war’s end, the Crabbe and Goyle families would make a home for themselves with new identities in a Canadian town called Haileybury.

After making a note of requesting Kingsley’s memory of March nineteenth, Harry returned to poring over the rest of his leads. After nothing came of Malfoy talking to Lucius in Azkaban, Harry wasn’t sure there was really anywhere to go with him as far as Magnus Norheim went. However, Harry found himself thinking once in a while about what Malfoy said as they were coming back from Azkaban. If Harry had nothing else to do, he wouldn’t mind following up with that. If Harry had caught Malfoy in a lie or blatant attempt to schmooze, Harry wanted to know. It might knock Malfoy’s credibility going forward and, by extent, Ramstad’s.

Harry brought out the messenger he shared with them, and hesitated before touching his quill to it. He ended up putting the messenger away and heading instead to the Ministry owlery to write what he wanted. Malfoy had mentioned that Ramstad didn’t know about this thing with the DA. If he still hadn’t told her, Harry didn’t want to be the one to open the conversation between them. Harry didn’t want to give them time to corroborate a story if he caught Malfoy in a lie, even if they might do it anyway.

_Wasn’t sure if I should put this down for both of you or not. Wanted to catch up with you a bit. Fancy a pint sometime? You could reply the usual way._

It worked to Harry’s advantage that he needed to keep letters in slim reading capacity while the war was still on. He didn’t want to tell Malfoy explicitly what he sought to know. Harry instructed the owl to take the letter to Jotunheimen rather than Malfoy’s cottage, to further prevent Ramstad from knowing about it.

Harry returned to the office Wednesday morning with little expectation to have heard from Malfoy yet. He took a second glance at the messenger when he flipped it open out of passive curiosity. Words were there: _I know a good place here if you wanted to come to Bergen. I work 4-midnight until Thursday but Friday is good. What’re we meeting for? Something about Dagmar?_

 _No,_ Harry wrote right away, thinking hard and fast. _Just wanted some one on one. Been thinking lately maybe it’s time we start actually trying to bury the hatchet if that’s something you’re interested in. Things are different now we’re out of Hogwarts. Time to grow up._

As the words faded, Harry’s heart picked up a little. He never really imagined himself ever extending an olive branch to Draco Malfoy, regardless of intention. What Harry said about things being different after Hogwarts was true, though. He’d experienced the same thing with Parkinson where what colours they’d worn for those seven years ran together. If what Malfoy said about the DA was true, this could’ve been going on for a lot longer than Harry noticed—since Voldemort came back, in fact. Everything with the DA was still up in the air, but Hagrid had been right when he said to Harry last September that Malfoy was quiet without an audience. He was annoying as ever when with his cronies, but Harry might as well have worn his invisibility cloak if he crossed paths with Malfoy on his own.

Harry just figured that Lucius Malfoy nearly being caught at the Ministry had smartened Malfoy up. Malfoy might have become disillusioned. Considering the attitudes of Slytherin house at the time, who would Malfoy have been able to turn to? Harry himself would’ve never trusted Malfoy if he came to him seeking help or alliance. Malfoy dug his grave with years of acting like an elitist twat. The only Slytherin that really associated with the other three houses was Ramstad.

That was where the situation came full circle, Harry supposed. Narcissa Malfoy had used Malfoy’s arranged marriage as means to toss him a lifeline without having to compromise appearances. According to Hermione, Ramstad wasn’t the kind of person that would’ve tolerated Malfoy as he used to be. If Malfoy was on the verge of a change of heart—or it had already quietly happened—it wouldn’t have taken much for Malfoy to swing the way he went.

Malfoy had replied when Harry made it back from fixing a cup of tea: _Yeah, might as well. Gotta grow up sometime. There’s a pub called Dragehode in Trollmannsgaten that’s out of the way, although depends if you care about being spotted. You’re famous as ever here._

 _I’ve noticed abroad I don’t really get recognized,_ Harry wrote. _Maybe people don’t actually know what I look like outside of Britain. It’s nice, won’t lie._

_Could be that. Time preference? Day off for me so I’m wide open._

A thought occurred to Harry. _You’re not worried about being seen with me in public either, hey? If Voldemort has spies in Bergen they would still recognize me._

There was a long pause. _Yeah maybe public isn’t best. Feels like it would be fine but who really knows. You could always just come to the cottage. Dagmar might be around but I’ve had people up before and if we’re doing our own thing she respects that._

_Cheers, then. How does 6 work for you?_

_My time or your time?_

With that settled, Harry was satisfied at how the next week looked for him on possibly making some progress. Friday, meet up with Malfoy. Monday, ask Kingsley for his memory. Hopefully, something in all of that had some kind of indicator forward. Harry could get out of this rut.

Harry managed to leave the office right on time at five. He was only a few steps away from the apparation points in the Atrium when he had his own change of heart about going to Grimmauld Place. Ron hadn’t been coming home right away either, too busy lingering at Florean’s after work so he could flirt with Emma Vane (“Just watch out for her sister,” Harry had not-so-jokingly warned him). Harry couldn’t find the motivation within him to make dinner for himself, especially when he had a much better idea.

He apparated to Diagon Alley instead. Most of the shops spare the restaurants closed at five or six during the middle of the week. Harry wondered if Madam Malkin’s was one of them. A woman was exiting as Harry approached. There was still a handful of other customers in there, as well.

Madam Malkin looked over from behind the front counter when the bell above the door sounded. A slight amount of heat rose up from Harry’s shirt collar when a knowing smile slowly spread across her round face.

“Evening, Mr. Potter,” she greeted him. “What could I do for you?”

“Er, I was looking for Parkinson, actually.” Harry shifted a bit. “Is she around? I could always come back another time if she’s busy.”

“Right through the back, dear,” Madam Malkin told him.

Now Harry started to grow nervous. Even if Parkinson expected him, it was possible that her thoughts on how Saturday went didn’t line up with his. Harry had no illusions that sometimes people didn’t turn out how they were expected to be. He’d gone through that with Cho. Still, Harry had committed to finding out where he and Parkinson stood. Madam Malkin had seen him, and surely she would mention it to Parkinson if Harry high-tailed out.

A sewing machine rattled away in the back. Harry passed through the measuring room and peered beyond around the corner. Parkinson was sitting sideways to Harry, her head down and fingers nimbly feeding fabric under the needle. She had her hair tied back. It was easier to see her face, like the little slope to her nose and her full lips. The latter were slightly parted with her concentration.

Harry waited until Parkinson paused to shift something before rapping his knuckles gently against the arch frame. That Parkinson brightened up before she had a chance to temper herself was all Harry needed to see to know he’d made the right choice in coming by.

“Hey.” Her voice was breathy. “What’re you doing here?”

“Thought I’d pop in.” Harry shrugged. “That was still okay?”

“Oh—yeah.” Parkinson flashed him a quick smile. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. I haven’t gone cross-eyed from staring at this thing, have I?”

Chuckling, Harry took that as an invitation to come closer. Parkinson sat up straighter in her chair, stretching her back with it. “Nah, your eyes are fine.”

“Pull up a chair if you like,” Parkinson invited him with a gesture at one nearby. “I’m sure this is _super_ exciting after what you must do all day, but company is nice. I’ve barely talked to anyone since I came in this morning.”

“What’re you working on?” Harry looked at the strip of blue and bronze fabric Pansy sewed. “Ravenclaw stuff?”

“Ties,” Parkinson confirmed with a nod. “Coming close to that time, you know, and the rush before term starts will hit full-swing next week. Madam Malkin likes to keep a decent back supply of things like this, since they’re guaranteed movers. We don’t want to delay if there end up more first-years sorted into one specific house than we expected. I still remember how agonizing it was, waiting for my Slytherin ties to come the first week we were there. I would have hated to wait any longer.”

“I didn’t expect mine when they showed up,” Harry recalled. “I thought us first-years just had to wear black for the year or something.”

“That might’ve helped us get on a little better with each other,” Parkinson said. “House identity was pretty important too, though. That far away from your family, you’re looking for a new one to fill the void.”

“I guess.” Harry had been more than happy to be away from the Dursleys. All of Hogwarts had felt like his new family. Malfoy reminded Harry very much of Dudley. “I definitely felt more at home there than anywhere else. It’s going to be weird in a few weeks, knowing everyone else is back there and we’re not.”

“Yeah.” Parkinson grew subdued at the notion, her smile soft with nostalgia. She resituated the tie she worked on under the needle. “I’ll miss it for sure. I felt like I was only really hitting my stride when Ginny and her friends took me in. With all of them going back, I’m a little lost on who I’ll spend my time when when I’m not working.”

“Have you talked to Ginny since Saturday?”

“She came through here yesterday.” Parkinson’s brow twitched upward. “I informed her she was a bitch for setting us up like that.”

Harry laughed. “It turned out okay, didn’t it?”

“Luckily.” Parkinson glanced at Harry. “She told me I was welcome. Such hubris.”

“Ron was in on it too, apparently,” Harry told her. “Ginny needed to make sure I got out of the house when the time came. I don’t think she was going to let you get stood up.”

While Parkinson rounded the bottom part of the tie, her shoulders rose in a slow, hesitant shrug. “I suppose it’s a nice thing both our friends thought it was something worth trying. I knew Ginny did, but. . .not something I expected on your side of things.”

“Me neither.” It was a little warmer in the back room without the kind of airflow Harry was used to in the Auror office. Risking again being too forward, Harry slipped off his jacket and hung it from the back of the chair. “Ginny told me not to bring Ron. She probably knew I would if I had thoughts of him and I spending the evening with Seamus and Dean. She said she didn’t want him around her friends, which, to be fair. . .”

Parkinson laughed, somewhere between a giggle and a snicker. “Yes, working at the joke shop has certainly gone a little bit to his head. Diagon Alley has a culture of its own, the way everyone acts silly with each other. When I first started here, the Weasley twins were who all the single women looked at. That’ll rub off on your mate now.”

“He’s enjoying it.”

“So I’ve seen.”

Harry was more than okay about it. Hermione’s warning about a jealous Ron should Harry start dating someone couldn’t exactly go anywhere if Ron himself was playing the field. It could even be that Ron turned his nose at the idea of a committed relationship when having several casual flings was an alternative option. He possibly considered his situation superior to whatever Harry might wind up with here. Ron teaming up with Ginny to try and get Harry on with a woman was a very promising sign.

“What time are you done?” Harry asked.

“Oh, not for a while yet.” Parkinson’s placid smile fell a little bit. “I told Madam Malkin I’d put in a couple extra hours today.”

“I was thinking dinner, but maybe another day, then?”

“You’re more than welcome to stick around,” Parkinson offered. “If you want to grab something, I won’t be offended. I won’t make you wait to eat.”

“Are _you_ hungry? I could get something for you too.”

“Sure. Give me a second, and I can get you some coins.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. What do you want?”

Parkinson hesitated. Harry wondered if she might insist on paying her own way, but she seemed to let it go with some thought. “What were _you_ thinking?”

“I’m not fussy.” Harry shrugged. “Go on, pick. You probably know the choices in Diagon Alley better than me.”

Parkinson pursed her lips, focused again on the next tie she had started. She was done the Ravenclaw ones. Her next pile of loose fabric was yellow and black. There was a playful glint in her eyes when she glanced up at Harry again. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind a kebab.”

“Where at, and what kind?”

Harry headed out with her order, repeating it in his mind so that he didn’t forget. Parkinson had offered to write it down for him, but Harry thought it might look pretty good if he remembered.

Ron was in Florean’s, when Harry passed it by. He looked busy, which was another reason on top of trying to remember Parkinson’s food order not to bother him. Harry spared Ron a snort and shake of the head instead. When they crossed paths later, it would be nice to not be the only one getting teased about how his evening was spent.

Harry returned to the shop just as it was closing. Madam Malkin laid on the sugariness again, which Harry would certainly be embarrassed about if it came from someone like Mrs. Weasley that he considered family. Still, Harry hadn’t thought as far ahead that Madam Malkin was trusting them alone in the back of her shop. She didn’t have anything to worry about, from Harry’s point of view. This was only the second time he and Parkinson spent time together like a date. Hell, Harry still referred to her by her surname.

Madam Malkin poked her head into the back. Harry was just taking a bite out of his doner kebab. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pansy dear. Next time, Mr. Potter.”

Harry raised a hand since his mouth was full. Madam Malkin stayed long enough then to tell Parkinson she would lock the front door, and could Parkinson please make sure she did the same when she and Harry left. With that, the shop fell almost eerily quiet.

It made for a peaceful environment to chat in while Parkinson worked. She made slow work of her dinner, although Harry didn’t even know how she’d eat as much as the restaurant sold for a portion. Parkinson picked away at her chips more frequently, eventually coming to ignore her sewing machine in favour of their conversation. She turned her chair more to face Harry, her legs crossed and foot slightly jiggling.

“I don’t really know what I was thinking when I asked for a side.” Stuffed, Harry poked his potato salad with a fork.

Parkinson chuckled. “At least it all goes well in the ice box.”

“Yeah, won’t have to worry about lunch tomorrow.”

“Me neither.”

It was past seven when Parkinson resigned to getting nothing else done for the evening. Harry felt a little bad to have distracted her, but she just waved him off as they approached the apparation point.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t doing catch-up or anything,” she said. “Just had nothing better to do, really. My parents are gone to Malta until September, so it’s a little boring at home.”

“I get it completely.”

Parkinson smiled when they came to a stop. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“Do it again?”

Harry didn’t even have a chance to get nervous about putting the idea out there. His ego was quickly getting used to the slight glow in Parkinson’s cheeks, and how her eyes took on a little squint.

“Sure,” she replied. “When?”

“Er, Saturday?” Other than Friday, Harry’s weekend was open.

“Sounds good.” Parkinson rested her hand briefly on Harry’s elbow. “Let me know what time and where.”

Parkinson’s smile softened in an impish way before she disapparated. Harry felt a little silly as he did the same back to Grimmauld Place. The reaction he felt internally to be touched unexpectedly probably showed on the outside of him, as well. Just in general, Harry wasn’t someone used to physical affection. He didn’t really get any growing up, since the Dursleys were distant in every way they could be. Harry had learned to live without it, and certainly to never expect it.

Harry found it hard to focus completely on work the next day. His mind kept wandering, and the highlight until he went home later was sending an owl to Parkinson to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron Saturday night. She seemed excited about it in her reply.

With that to look forward to, Harry almost forgot he had plans on Friday night. Malfoy had written in the messenger to make sure they were still on. Harry was a little relieved to find out that Ramstad would be making herself scarce for the evening by putting extra hours in at the hospital. Harry left the office and changed at home before heading to the Grand Floo Station for Bergen. Malfoy and Ramstad hadn’t been kidding when they complained about Friday foot traffic. This close to September, it would only get worse as people all started coming home, or else tried to cram in one more holiday with the kids.

Bergen was no better. Harry had to queue before he could jump back into the fireplace for Malfoy’s. He stepped out when the familiar living room appeared. There were a slew of books on the coffee table that hadn’t been there before, as well as some scattered writing supplies. Harry couldn’t read the titles since they were in Norwegian, but he recognized textbooks from a mile away.

Malfoy poked a head out of the kitchen. “C’mon in.”

Harry slipped his shoes off on the rug in front of the fireplace. Malfoy was rooting around in a cupboard full of bottles. Liquor, by the looks of it.

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder as Harry leaned on the kitchen island. “Preference? We have pretty much everything after Dagmar’s birthday.”

“Not really.” Harry was glad Malfoy had thought of this, because he was a little on edge now that he was here. “Whatever you like is good enough.”

Malfoy was dressed more like a Muggle than a wizard. He wore blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt about the same colour. The front of the sweatshirt had a picture of a viking ship on it. The sails of it were a lighter blue with an off-centre yellow plus-sign. It said _Sverige_ underneath it.

Malfoy glanced at Harry again as he fetched a couple glasses from another cupboard. “Oh good, you dressed warm.”

“I just kind of assumed.” Harry shrugged. “Last time I came, it was pissing rain.”

Malfoy laughed. “Ever since we moved here, I’ve been trying to figure out why London gets such a bad rep for weather.”

“It’s been nice there all week,” Harry said. “Hot, actually. What’s Sverige?”

“What? Oh—Svariya,” Malfoy corrected his pronunciation as he passed Harry by for the sliding door. “Sweden, Potter. We might as well sit outside, seeing as it’s not raining at the moment.”

“Sure.” Harry followed along. “You’ve been? I guess it’s not a far jaunt from here.”

“Nah, not yet anyway,” Malfoy replied. “Dagmar and I haven’t actually ventured far this summer, just getting settled in and all that. And now that we’re both working and she’s studying, finding the motivation to take a trip like that is even harder. I got this jumper ‘cause I had to buy Muggle clothes for work.”

“How come?” Harry took a seat at the table opposite Malfoy.

“There are tourist spots around the dragon reserve.” Malfoy poured them each a bit into the glasses and slid Harry his. “Muggles go there, and sometimes the dragons will either fly by or be drawn into the scent of people. If that happens, whoever saw the dragons needs to be obliviated. If the dragons for whatever reason get aggressive, then we’re ready to fend them off as well.”

Harry made a noise of uncertainty in his throat. “Deal with a lot of Norwegian Ridgebacks?”

“That’s all we have.” Malfoy chuckled, one end of his mouth coming up to a smirk. “They’re not that bad. All the females are off right now. Any that took after breeding season will be hatching soon. The ones that didn’t just go along out of instinct.”

“Probably makes for peaceful summers.”

“Convenient for the tourists, that’s for sure.” Malfoy sipped his drink. “The _real_ headache is the hikers. Magical folk know better than to hike into the reserve, but Muggles don’t. If they ever get lost, the Muggle Norwegian government asks us to find them. I’ve heard some rough stories from the other dragonologists about it. It’s not usually the dragons that get hikers, but the jotunn.”

“What’s that?”

Malfoy had grimaced at their mention. “Nasty type of mountain trolls. They bred in with giants ages ago, and used to run wild back in the viking days.”

Harry’s face went the same way Malfoy’s had. “Yeah, can’t say I fancy much the idea of getting chased around the mountains by something like that.”

“It’s a rite of passage at the reserve to see one.” Malfoy didn’t look thrilled. To Harry it was kind of funny that Malfoy could light up so enthusiastically about the dragons, but loath the idea of something like a jotunn.

“See much of the dragons?” Harry asked.

“Not up-close yet.” Malfoy shook his head. “We don’t bother them if we don’t have to, just observe them from afar. The more senior dragonologists do up-close checks once a week or so, for general health. Mostly me and the other new ones this year have been getting the firedrakes settled.”

“Oh, they made it up, did they?”

“We picked them up, actually.” Malfoy sat up straighter, his excitement returning. “It only takes about four hours to get from here to Hogwarts by broom. The return trip was brutal, though. It took nearly two full days. You can tell the firedrakes miss Hagrid, but they all remember me. Luca got to see the one he raised when I showed everyone around up there last weekend.”

Harry smiled at mention of Hagrid. He should really write him again soon. Harry hadn’t since thanking Hagrid for a cake that had arrived on his birthday. “Summer at Hogwarts is strange, isn’t it?”

“Try it when you’re not a student anymore, either. It’s downright weird.” Malfoy smirked again. “Dumbledore said I could go wherever I wanted, since I’m done there. I got to go into Gryffindor Tower.”

Harry laughed. “What’d you think?”

“Not a bad setup.”

Harry sipped his drink. “I’ve been in the Slytherin common room, you know.”

Malfoy’s brow jumped a little. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, back in second year over the Christmas holidays,” Harry said. “I don’t remember exactly what day it was, but you would maybe remember Crabbe and Goyle acting weird. They took off on you. I think one said they had a stomach ache. That was Ron and I.”

Looking like he tried not to laugh while he thought, Malfoy’s gaze darted about. “Polyjuice Potion?”

“Hermione whipped us up a batch.”

“ _Why_ , though?” Malfoy settled on a cheeky grin. “If you wanted to be mates, you could’ve just said so. I might have allowed it if you groveled hard enough.”

“Yeah right,” Harry replied, making Malfoy snort. “We thought you were the one attacking people. Figured you wouldn’t be able to help yourself but brag if your mates asked.”

The humour slowly bled out of Malfoy, taking Harry’s right with it. Malfoy’s brow furrowed and his mouth worked.

“I wouldn’t have been able to help that. You’re right.” A glimpse of jest returned briefly to Malfoy, but it was gone in a blink. “I wished it was me, though. I wanted to help. I took a lot of glee out of what was going on.”

“That much was obvious.” Harry swirled his drink.

“It all feels so far away now.” Malfoy exhaled hard enough through his noise for Harry to catch the sigh. “Things were so different, back then. My father always said that Hogwarts was going to the dogs, and that purebloods were treated like jokes after You-Know-Who disappeared. Well—Father said that after You-Know-Who supposedly died. I don’t know if my father actually knew You-Know-Who would come back. He never told me, if he did. It seemed true though, what my father said about Dumbledore treating Muggle-borns and half-bloods better than purebloods. I don’t know if you ever realized just how badly Slytherin house was scorned after Gryffindor took the House Cup our first year.”

Harry shrugged. “Me, Ron, Hermione, and Neville never asked for those house points.”

“That’s not the point.” Malfoy shook his head. “Dumbledore gave them to you. He favoured you.”

“I guess. But I mean. . .” All Harry could do was shrug again. “We also stopped Voldemort from getting Flamel’s stone. Isn’t that worth some kind of reward, from Dumbledore’s perspective? It happened on school grounds.”

“So stopping You-Know-Who like that wasn’t enough of a reward on its own?” Malfoy teased Harry with a light drawl. “Nobody knew it was You-Know-Who anyway. We were all told it was Quirrell trying to steal it.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Dumbledore told me everyone knew what happened.”

“I heard about a chess game, some potions thing Granger figured out, and that Professor Quirrell died trying to steal something Dumbledore was hiding for a mate. Nothing about You-Know-Who.” Malfoy shivered suddenly and involuntarily. “I realized later on that was probably what happened. We saw him, didn’t we? In the Forbidden Forest, drinking from that unicorn?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.” Malfoy rolled his bottom lip through his teeth, thinking. “Did Dumbledore tell you about Dagmar and You-Know-Who in the graveyard?”

Harry blinked. “No.”

“Oh really? Figured he would have, so you might understand where we were coming from in joining the Order.” Malfoy brought his drink up to his lips. “While I was packing for the train in the morning, my father wanted a word with Dagmar. They were taking forever, so I went looking. My father was alone in the great room, and I figured out that Dagmar was in the drawing room with You-Know-Who. I busted in there, but they were gone. Went off on my father because he didn’t realize either that they were leaving. Er—not that it’s totally relevant to the point of the story, but that’s when my father gave me that black eye. I’d told him I didn’t care about You-Know-Who’s business. Dagmar came back, then. She was unconscious. Stunned. When I noticed her and You-Know-Who back, the way You-Know-Who stood up from where Dagmar laid reminded me of that unicorn.”

Harry nodded slowly as he digested all that. He hadn’t heard the details, just that Malfoy and Ramstad effectively denounced Voldemort before term.

“I wondered if she met him,” Harry said. “I saw the graveyard when I used Legilimency on her. Dumbledore and I went there, but nothing stuck out to us why she ever was.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s lucky she survived, honestly.” Harry cleared his throat. “It’s not very often someone walks away from him. Especially if he stunned her, it wouldn’t have taken much for him to make her just disappear.”

Malfoy’s gaze grew long as it directed out over the bay. His grey eyes returned to Harry. “Well, it’s like my father said. You-Know-Who takes care of who’s loyal. Dagmar certainly isn’t—she despises him—but her parents were. He wouldn’t have taken their kid like that.”

“It must still be hard not to feel some kind of grateful, though,” Harry said. “ _I_ was definitely thankful when I went to the graveyard that Voldemort had enough of an ego to want to do me in himself. He spent too much time talking.”

“Yeah, and some kind of honour code can be used to your advantage, can’t it?” Malfoy asked. “Dagmar and I are what you might call safe. He’d never hurt us. All you’d have to do is stay behind us, and you’d be fine.”

Malfoy chuckled mirthlessly while Harry managed a tight smile.

“It’s handy to know,” Harry confirmed with a nod. “Any kind of advantage helps. It’s always been hard to tell what Voldemort actually believes, since his message about pure blood doesn’t exactly ring true. He’s not even one himself, although he kind of excused that away by being a descendant of Slytherin himself. I don’t even know why he saw _that_ as a big deal. Slytherin was just a bloke. Maybe it feels different for you, since you were in his house?”

Malfoy shrugged. “He got talked up a lot in my home, that’s for sure. My family was all Slytherins, and his ideas about pure blood are important to them. With everything Dagmar’s been going through lately with her family, I could see how You-Know-Who might latch onto his bloodline for something to feel connected to. He probably got the idea from there he was somehow better than everyone else for something he couldn’t help. The purebloods that care think like that. I used to.”

“Which is why you wanted to know who the heir of Slytherin was.” Harry brought them back to that. “Why you wanted to help. You thought it would clean up the school, or what?”

“Enough for everyone that wasn’t pureblooded to stay home, anyway.” Malfoy rubbed his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about anyone dying, just wanted what I thought my experience at school ought to be. My father wanted to send me to Durmstrang, but my mum wouldn’t have me that far away from home. I felt like I was stuck with Hogwarts because of that. If I couldn’t change where I was, then the place itself needed to change. Twelve-year-old logic, you know. Not that it makes anything better about it.”

“Not really. All you can do about stuff like that is grow out of it.”

“Yeah.”

It still looked like it bothered Malfoy. His face was long again. That he was capable of things like guilt and insight was a little surprising to Harry, but perhaps that was part of growing up too.

“So what happened with you after Voldemort came back, then?” Harry asked. “You knew right away?”

“Dumbledore said he was,” Malfoy replied. “Diggory was dead. How else could it have happened?”

“You didn’t seem too upset about that,” Harry coolly replied. “You had a good time making fun of his death.”

“Not particularly.” Malfoy rubbed his neck. “I liked Diggory. I wanted him to win the tournament. He should’ve been the only Hogwarts champion and yet again, here _you_ were trying to steal the spotlight. I was pretty sure Dumbledore put your name in there or something, since he liked you so much. My father knew I liked Diggory. Of course I told him everything about the tournament. But if You-Know-Who was back, then I screwed up. If I liked Diggory and You-Know-Who killed him, then where was my loyalty? I made the right call blowing his death off, I’ll tell you that. I went home injured after all those curses and jinxes I got hit with and my father was happy—maybe relieved, actually—that I hadn’t wound up a blood traitor after being in Dumbledore’s school for four years.”

“But you weren’t a blood traitor,” Harry said. “You still believed purebloods were better.”

“Diggory was a pureblood, though. And You-Know-Who killed him anyway.”

“You would’ve called him a blood traitor.”

“Would You-Know-Who have known that?”

“He didn’t know anything about Cedric.” Harry’s throat tightened with discomfort as that eerie stillness of the graveyard dredged up from his memory. “He just killed him. For nothing.”

“Exactly. So how was anyone safe, no matter how loyal? What if it had been _me_ standing there, instead of Diggory? Wouldn’t have mattered. Hard to trust in that, can’t you see? And he was back. That summer, he was in my manor. I never saw him, but I knew.”

Harry considered Malfoy. “Were you having doubts, then? I don’t know why you’d worry, otherwise. It was always clear to me whose side you’d take if it came to that.”

“Starting to, I guess.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, his gaze stuck to his drink. Even though there was still a little left in there, Malfoy topped himself up with a couple fingers’ worth. “Maybe it wasn’t doubt yet. That summer sucked. I was scared what might happen, even if my father being right up there meant I would be fine. I had a stomach ache that wouldn’t go away. I knew I wasn’t actually sick, but nothing would help. I kept telling myself ‘you’re fine, you’re fine’, but I didn’t really believe it.”

Harry accepted the bottle when Malfoy pushed it across the table. He stayed quiet to let Malfoy go on by his own accord.

“I feel worse for Dagmar about it,” Malfoy said. “I at least knew where my parents stood on everything when they got involved. Dagmar’s never gotten over how betrayed she felt. She’s probably going to carry that for the rest of her life.”

“I found out the Ramstads were Death Eaters when viewing a memory,” Harry told him. “I saw her in it. She looked pretty down.”

“I’m sure she did.”

That more than anything they discussed so far seemed to dampen Malfoy’s spirit. He leaned forward on the table, balanced on his elbow while his hand cupped his chin.

“You care about her a lot, huh?” Harry asked.

Malfoy’s expression pulled back up as he snorted. “Putting it lightly, yeah. I never want to see her hurt, and there’s been no shortage of that.”

It weighed Malfoy down again to say that. He perked back up while Harry sipped his drink.

“You ever been in love, Potter?” Malfoy asked.

“Mm. . .” Harry pressed his lips together. “No. Haven’t had much chance to really even think about that.”

“Guess not, hey?” Malfoy had a wistful look about him. “You’ll see what I mean once you get around to it. When you have that with someone, it changes your entire world. You wonder sometimes what you were doing before them, how you were even yourself, or if you even knew who that was.”

Harry’s mind strayed to Parkinson. Certainly the flutter of feelings there had the potential for something.

“Sounds nice, I won’t lie,” Harry replied.

“We’ve been talking about the future a bit lately,” Malfoy said. “Timelines and stuff, now that we’re out of school. Well, she’s got two more years of it. We’ll get serious about getting married when my mum is back. Dagmar wants to work for a while after she gets her Healer certificate, but then we’re going to have a kid.”

“I don’t know how to feel about another little Malfoy running around.”

Malfoy laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure anyone me and Dagmar raise will be a lot better than I was. Dagmar would never stand for that attitude, and I like to think there are a lot of ways to improve on how my father was with me.”

“Like what?”

“Not hitting would be a good start.” Malfoy reached for the bottle. “My father caned me for discipline.”

Harry grimaced. As much as Uncle Vernon liked to threaten Harry, the few times Harry caught a hand never became something systemic.

“I’m not really sure how to feel about that, honestly.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know if I can say being caned cocked me up. Maybe it did a little. It certainly didn’t help. In the end, I don’t feel close to my father at all. I don’t want my kids to think about me the same way.”

“Most people that got spanked by their parents do it to theirs because they figure they turned out all right.”

Malfoy snickered. “Yeah, then you look at those people and you have to wonder, did you, though?”

With a laugh, Harry topped himself up again. He hadn’t noticed the contents of his glass gradually disappearing until they were gone. “I want to joke and say I’d wonder that about you, but I can’t bring myself to. You’re a lot more tolerable lately.”

“Yeah.”

“Still full of yourself, though.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy repeated with a smirk. “Dagmar calls it self-confidence. I’ll go with that.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

“In all honesty, it does.” Malfoy shrugged. “I worked my arse off last year at school so that I could get on here. I needed Os in everything except Transfiguration. Had to learn a second language, although that would’ve been a lot more challenging if I didn’t happen to be going with someone that already spoke it. Can’t really call it arrogance if you earn it, right? I did luck out a bit. I told Hagrid over Christmas holidays that I’d applied at some dragon reserves, and he said he mentioned the firedrakes in his testament letters. That would’ve given me a leg-up, since firedrakes are about as close as you can get to dragons without it being too dangerous for a school project.”

“I was primed too,” Harry said. “I don’t know that I would’ve wound up in the Auror office if I didn’t have so much experience with Voldemort. Really, I just stuck my nose in lots of places, even if he wasn’t somehow involved. I can’t say my grades were great enough that they would’ve wowed Kingsley if I was just a blind candidate.”

“It’s not like it means you worked less hard for it.”

“No, you’re right.”

“Two words I never thought I’d hear you say to me.”

Harry snickered a little longer than he usually would. His head was starting to swim from the alcohol, but it was a nice feeling. “So what about Umbridge, then?”

Malfoy made a noise of disgust and knocked back his glass, making Harry burst into laughter. Malfoy pulled another face at taking too much too fast, but he reached for the bottle again regardless. “What about that old toad?”

“For the life of me, I can’t understand why you didn’t turn us in as soon as you found where we were meeting.”

“I didn’t like her either,” Malfoy said with a scoff. “That entire year was chaos. I was more than happy to contribute. Gave me a bit of a thrill, you could say, to be the head of her little Squad and let everyone get the best of her.”

“How’d you even find where we were meeting?” Harry asked. “Did you know about the Room of Requirement?”

“Sort of, not really.” Malfoy waved his hand in a so-so motion. “I found it on accident once during fourth year with Pansy when we were looking for somewhere quick to shag—” (Harry’s stomach flipped unpleasantly) “—but we couldn’t find it again after that. I happened to be walking by, and the corridor was familiar. I got all excited when I saw the door again. I opened it, and there you all were.”

“Oh.”

“I stood there for probably half a minute watching,” Malfoy said. “Nobody noticed me. I just left.”

“Never thought about turning us in?”

“Of course.” Malfoy laughed. “I had to weigh my priorities though, you know. Mess with Potter, or mess with Umbridge? She was _infinitely_ more annoying.”

“There’s a compliment hiding in there somewhere,” Harry jested.

“There really isn’t. Not for the time.” Colour was rising in Malfoy’s cheeks in relation to all the drink he’d put away. Harry figured they’d done about the same amount, so he too had to be feeling pretty good. “Umbridge had me come to her office first or second week of term. Started kissing my arse in that babyish way she used to talk, ‘I know your father very well, you know’—” Harry snorted again at the mocking impression, “—and it absolutely rubbed me the wrong way. After Christmas holidays, she pulled me into her office again. Told me she wanted my help finding where your little group was meeting. Yeah, sure thing, you got it. I’ll get right on that.”

“When did you see us?”

“Sometime in November.” Malfoy’s new smirk was as smug as ever. “Still, all good things must come to an end, huh? I was actually a little shocked Umbridge asked me to lead the Inquisitorial Squad, since it wasn’t like I was actually very effective in pointing her to the Room of Requirement. We all did a pretty good job putting her through the wringer, didn’t we?”

“Some of us more than others,” Harry said with a pointed look.

“Yeah,” Malfoy easily agreed. “The Weasley twins. . .legends.”

Harry laughed.

“I did my part keeping the Inquisitorial Squad from being effective.” Malfoy shrugged. “Umbridge couldn’t have picked worse members, honestly. It wasn’t hard to convince any of them to just mess around. They only needed someone to lead by example. It was kind of fun just to do the same. I won’t lie that maybe the power went to my head too.”

“ _Maybe_ it did, you say?”

“Okay, it absolutely did,” Malfoy admitted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It felt different, though. After how terrible the summer You-Know-Who came back went, getting back to Hogwarts was such a relief. I felt kinda like we were all in the same boat, you know? Even when I teased you or Weasley or Granger, it was more like how I’d do my own friends. Sort of like _wink, wink_. I always wanted to be your mate in a way, you know. You were the first person that ever told me to sod off, and it would’ve been a decent boost to my poor little ego after that to turn it around and have you say I was all right.”

“You had to act all right, first,” Harry said. “Just once would’ve been a good start.”

“I almost had a moment.” The corner of Malfoy’s mouth tugged upward anew. “It would’ve been so great, and I wonder how much it would’ve made up for if I managed. Do you remember when Umbridge caught you using the fireplace in her office?”

“Mhm.” Although Harry had passed the point of buzzed, he sobered just a little at the prospect of Malfoy going in about what Harry considered to be the hole in his story.

“She talked about using the Cruciatus Curse on you, and it hit me.” Malfoy paused to take another drink. “That’s decent grounds to attack a teacher. To attack a _Headmistress_. Wouldn’t you agree? It’d be some kind of defence at that point. She went too far.

“Granger got her off it though, so oh well.” Malfoy looked disappointed. “She mentioned a weapon. That could’ve been way more interesting. What was it, if it even existed?”

“It didn’t exist.”

“Oh yeah. I figured. So why were you trying to talk to Dumbledore, then?”

“I wasn’t.” Harry hesitated, but verging on drunk made it easier to talk without feeling what the words meant. “I was trying to talk to Sirius.”

“Right, you got on with him, didn’t you?” Malfoy asked. “Auntie Andie said he willed his house to you.”

“He was my godfather.” Harry nodded. “My dad’s best mate. Took the fall for someone else who was supposed to be their friend.”

“That Wormtail or whatever, right?”

“Hey.” A thought came to Harry. He nearly slopped his drink over the glass rim when he changed trajectory from taking a sip to pointing at Malfoy instead. “You never saw him around, did you? At your manor?”

“Don’t think so.” Malfoy squinted an eye. Bleary-eyed as he was getting, Harry doubted his mind was running all that fast or well. “I usually recognized anyone I saw.”

“Wonder what happened to him.” Harry made a mental note to write that down in his lead book when he got home. He wondered if he would remember after he sobered up.

“Couldn’t tell you. Could always try asking my father. Pff.”

Harry made mental note of that as well, although he doubted Lucius would answer even that simple of a question. It was completely possible that Peter Pettigrew had been disposed of once Voldemort no longer needed him. With people like Lucius and Bellatrix at Voldemort’s side, why would he need someone as pathetic as that?

With Harry’s vision starting to swim, he made the conscious decision to level off on his drinking. If he got any worse, he might not even be good enough for conversation anymore. It started to get darker, and eventually Malfoy lit the outside torches. The city in the distance drew Harry’s gaze a lot as something to look at whenever his attention wandered.

Malfoy’s gaze shifted from him to the corner of the house. His eyes softened. “Hey.”

“Oh look, more drunk people,” came Ramstad’s voice with a tone of amusement before Harry turned enough in his seat to see her. She came around the corner of the cottage, all white in her Healer uniform. “Hey, Potter.”

“Hey,” Harry replied.

“You’re home already? What time is it?” Malfoy asked.

“Little past ten.” Ramstad passed Harry by for the other side of the table. She stood behind Malfoy and rested her hands on his shoulders. Malfoy reached up to touch one. “Just wanted to let you know I was back before I ran a bath.”

“Oof, I wonder if we should call it anyway,” Harry said. “I didn’t realize it was getting late.”

Ramstad studied him. “You might not be getting too far as you are. We have two spare beds made up if you just want to stay the night.”

“I don’t think I’d need to.”

Harry rethought that when he stood up. Without his chair holding him in place, he didn’t know where his balance went.

Malfoy snorted, but Ramstad just smiled. “Come on then, you two.”

Harry followed along as Ramstad led him and Malfoy back to the garden door. It took a minute, but Ramstad managed to convince Malfoy to take a seat at the bottom of the stairs so that she could help him up. Ramstad took Harry past the kitchen and down the short hall, where she pointed out the toilet and then told him to make his pick for beds. Harry figured he would just crash for a couple hours and then make his way home once he was sober enough. When he came to, though, it was bright outside again. Two open windows allowed for a nice, cool cross-breeze to caress his cheek. Harry felt otherwise terrible.

The mouth-watering smell of something being cooked came from the kitchen. Harry heard low voices followed by giggling. On Harry’s way into the bathroom, Ramstad shushed Malfoy and told him to stop in the kind of tone where she didn’t really mean it.

Harry had thought last night he could just slip out, but that wouldn’t happen now. It was just as well he be a polite guest and thank them for their hospitality, even if he could’ve done that later through the messenger. He came out to the kitchen, head aching and mouth dryer than sand, to find a similarly-sorry looking Malfoy sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of tea in front of him. Ramstad was in the middle of putting together a fry-up.

“Morning.” Malfoy’s voice croaked. “Breakfast is about ready.”

“Oh, I. . .” Harry lost steam. It smelled too good, and he felt too crumby to resist. He took a seat instead.

“Tea?” Ramstad offered. “Here.”

She passed him a cup so that he could pour himself from the pot on the island. Harry rubbed his eyes with one hand after taking a long draught.

“Cheers,” Harry said gratefully when Ramstad set a plate each in front of him and Malfoy.

“You two looked so pathetic last night, I felt sorry for you,” Ramstad jested as she took a stool on Malfoy’s other side with her own plate.

“I hope I feel better by later,” Malfoy said as he started on his tomatoes. “Otherwise I’m going to fly like shit.”

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked.

“Quidditch game,” Malfoy replied. “We booked the pitch here. All my mates from work are coming, and then Blaise, Luca, Milly, and Astoria.”

As soon as Malfoy said that, a smirk came over him with an illuminated gaze. “You could come if you want. Round up some Weasleys, maybe, and I bet Krum wouldn’t mind getting off the ground for a while.”

The idea excited Harry for about half a second before he thought about the logistics. “I’ve got plans today already. And Ron, Fred, and George are all at the shop. I bet Ginny would’ve loved to, though.”

“Too bad.” Malfoy’s shoulders slumped before he returned to his breakfast. “We were hoping to get a decent game in before Luca and Astoria went back to Hogwarts, and before the Canon Quidditch season means Milly’s too busy. Not to mention, everyone from work would’ve _loved_ to meet you.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t, mate.”


	20. Something Off

Harry laid around for most of the day feeling sorry for himself and trying to feel better in time for his date. After drinking roughly half his weight in water and then eating another decent-sized meal mid-day, Harry was starting to perk up. He was fully excited again after washing up and getting dressed.

He headed for the Leaky Cauldron early. Parkinson wasn’t too far behind him. Harry was having trouble resisting looking at her as they stepped out onto Charing Cross Road. Parkinson didn’t seem to mind, smiling placidly as they fell into the flow of tourist traffic.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized when she caught him again. “You look great, is all.”

“Aw, thank you,” Parkinson replied. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

“It helps to actually know I’m going to be on a date, so I can prepare for that,” Harry said. “I didn’t think about it until later, but I was seriously underdressed last weekend.”

Parkinson laughed. “For a pint at a pub? Not really.”

“I would’ve dressed a little nicer is all, if I knew I’d be trying to impress someone.”

“I didn’t care what you were wearing.” Parkinson waved the idea off. “I was more focused on the conversation.”

“Same, I guess.”

“So how’d the rest of your week go?” Parkinson asked.

“Work was kind of dull, although next week should be good,” Harry said. “I got some leads on the thing I’m working on. I’m just waiting for when I can get access to the people I need to talk to.”

“That’s exciting, then.”

“Mhm. Er. . .” Harry hadn’t thought he might have to explain last night. He wasn’t sure what kind of capacity he and Malfoy might have to somehow wind up mates in all this, but that was something that might affect Parkinson. Since Harry couldn’t be open about work due to confidentiality, he probably owed honesty to Parkinson wherever he could manage it. “Went on the piss a bit last night.”

“So your typical Friday night.” Parkinson tucked her hair back behind her ear when a little breeze pushed it loose. “Who with?”

“I promise there’s a story behind it, but Malfoy.”

Parkinson’s smile fell a little, but she looked more confused than anything. “Draco? Really?”

Harry nodded. “It’s been a work in progress. We started trying to make nice after his mum went missing. It was something we could maybe help with, so. . .”

“Oh yeah.”

“Maybe a little weird I get on all right with your ex?”

“I don’t know,” Parkinson said with the weight of a sigh. “I’m over the whole thing. He was right, we were better off without each other. It took me a long time to see that, but I do now. I don’t feel much of anything about him. It’s Ramstad I don’t care for.”

Harry squirmed with the knowledge of Malfoy and Ramstad’s arranged marriage, and how it had affected Parkinson. “Because she’s with him now, or. . .?”

“No, I don’t really care about that.” Parkinson’s tone took on some snippiness as she waved her hand. “As far as I’m concerned, they deserve each other. There’s just something off about her.”

“Like what?”

“Just off.” It was a bare glimpse, but Harry spotted some cageyness. “Ginny doesn’t really like her anymore, either. Didn’t much care for basically being ditched while Ramstad spent all her time at school with Draco’s gang instead.”

“Hm.” Harry was here for fun, but he was starting to slip into an investigator state of mind. Ramstad definitely had some skeletons in her closet. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how those might have spilled out onto Parkinson. “She’s a little strange, yeah.”

“If you’re helping Draco with his mum, that must mean you see Ramstad once in a while too, right?” Parkinson asked. “Not that it’s my business, but just watch yourself with her. Maybe don’t piss her off.”

“Did something happen between you?”

Parkinson shrugged. “I kind of deserved it, I won’t lie. I don’t like to think about it much now, but I treated her like rubbish for too long. I guess she didn’t feel like putting up with it anymore when I pushed her too far. It’s nothing, really. Slytherin house. . .it’s sort of a rite of passage to have your morning cereal poisoned or something. Not a big deal, you just get some antidote from Snape. We all knew where to draw the line.”

There was a lot to unpack in that statement. Harry had to force himself to stow all the new questions that arose in favour of what he was actively seeking. “That’s what she did? Poisoned you?”

“No.” Parkinson eyed Harry warily. “I don’t really want to get her in trouble. You’re an Auror. Would you have to follow up on it?”

“Not really, I guess, if you’re not actually lodging a complaint,” Harry said. “Our office only deals with dangerous dark wizards. It would be the general enforcement office that would handle that. I’d personally just like to know.”

Parkinson still didn’t look convinced. Although it was difficult, Harry forcibly reeled himself back in.

“I don’t mean to prod,” he told her. “Sorry. When all you do all day is ask questions, it carries over sometimes. I don’t think interrogating someone is very appealing, is it?”

To Harry’s relief, Parkinson’s brow unwrinkled itself. Her gaze softened again, followed by a tight smile. “It’s okay. Really. I knew what I was probably in for when I started seeing an Auror. It makes me feel safe that you’d care enough to ask.”

“To be totally fair, it wouldn’t matter if I fancied you or not. It’s just my job.”

“But what drew you to that in the first place?” Parkinson asked. “You like what the job entails.”

Harry admitted it with a shrug that he hoped was humble.

“Honestly, that’s part of what caught my eye. You seemed like you grew up early. I don’t have much the patience for boys. I tried after Draco, but no.” Parkinson’s eyes widened suddenly. “Not to say I went around like a slag or anything. I know there were rumours, but they weren’t true.”

“I didn’t hear any,” Harry said, honest to the fact. “I don’t even know that I’d care if they were true, so long as we were on the same page.”

Parkinson studied Harry, still a little wary. “Which is what, exactly? I mean, three dates in a week. . .we’ve established a bit of a pattern, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess we have.” Harry’s heart picked up with both excitement and nerves. “It’s my first time making a serious go at this, so I don’t really know the ropes all that well. I’ve just been enjoying our time together, and I definitely want to keep seeing you.”

“We don’t have to commit to anything right this minute,” Parkinson said quickly. “I just like to know where your head is.”

“Can’t tell?”

Parkinson blushed again. “Maybe a little. It’s nice to hear too, is all. Not that I want to scare you or anything, but I didn’t come away from my relationship with Draco with much trust in men. I thought we were doing all right, and then he dropped me with no warning. Looking back now, I see the signs. I agree it was for the best in the end, but it’s going to be hard for me to be that vulnerable with someone new. I’m really scared about being hurt again.”

“I get it,” Harry said. They stopped at a crosswalk to wait for the lights to change colour. “I know what it feels like to be tricked. I don’t want to say I’m paranoid, but. . .I’m a little paranoid.”

“About me?”

“No, just in general.” Harry shrugged. “Seems I get comfortable with someone, and then they turn out to be a Death Eater or something. Or they die.”

That was maybe too heavy to drop into the conversation. Harry felt a little awkward that perhaps he’d spoiled the atmosphere when Parkinson didn’t reply. His hand twitched in reflex when something touched it. Before Harry could jerk it away, Parkinson’s fingers slipped into his.

Warmth spread all over from it, although it definitely focused in Harry’s face. Parkinson looking up at him so fondly with that squint to her eyes as she smiled was a little overwhelming.

“I can’t say I won’t die because people don’t exactly plan that.” Parkinson turned serious again. “And I’m definitely not a Death Eater. I’ll warn you my parents are snobby about blood status, though. I can’t say they’ll be _totally_ thrilled about this, but I don’t care. I like you anyway.”

“I don’t know what my aunt and uncle would think, if they even cared,” Harry said. “You know I might die too, right? It’s going to be either me or Voldemort in the end.”

“Yeah.” Parkinson held Harry’s forearm with her free hand. “You’re doing everything you can to prevent it, right?”

Harry nodded.

“It doesn’t scare me,” Parkinson said. “Everyone dies eventually. If you’re going to be worried about that, the dating pool starts looking a little slim for pickings.”

Harry managed to laugh. “Yeah, I guess. I’d just feel bad to let someone down that way. It’s why I never dated much. I wanted to wait until this was all over, but now it’s seeming like it might be a while.”

“So let’s just have fun in the meantime.”

That they were able to go back to doing that after talking about such heavy stuff felt good to Harry. Since Parkinson didn’t let the weight of impending death for either of them ruin the evening, Harry was having a hard time at that either. He liked this about her, that things were light. Harry didn’t think it was possible to feel that way with other things on his mind, but he couldn’t forget to live while working to ensure his mortality beyond the war. What was the point, otherwise?

It was difficult to say goodbye to Parkinson when they’d rounded back to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had used reaching the apparation points as an excuse to prolong the evening, not wanting to split ways until they’d gotten back. Now that they were there, there was nothing else to it. Since Harry’s week looked a little congested, he arranged to see Parkinson again the next weekend. Harry felt lighter than air when she reminded him he was always welcome just to pop in at the shop.

Harry’s good mood followed him to the next evening, when he and Ron rallied up to go to Hermione’s flat for dinner. Even though both of them worked at the Ministry, Harry didn’t see Hermione too often. She’d buried herself immediately in her job, and it ended up being more laborious than Harry’s. It didn’t help either that all three of them had ventured into adult life with a partner of some kind (partners, for Ron). Hermione was quick to tell them to block off every other Sunday evening so that they had a designated evening just for the three of them.

“What I’m thinking about trying to set up is a registry and welfare office for house elves,” Hermione said while they ate. “Kind of like social services for children in the Muggle government. You know what I mean, right Harry?”

Harry swallowed his mouthful of kidney pie. “General concept, yeah.”

“Yeah, so basically people would register their house elves,” Hermione said. “If the office receives complaints about mistreatment, then there would be people who investigate. We would also just do random welfare checks on high-risk homes.”

Ron didn’t look very convinced. “I can’t say people would be totally thrilled about you just popping in at their house. That’s pretty intrusive.”

“They wouldn’t have anything to worry about if they didn’t mistreat their house elves, would they?” Hermione sweetly asked.

“Sometimes the house elves do it to themselves, though,” Ron pointed out. “Remember Dobby doing that?”

“They do it at their master’s command,” Hermione said. “Not all house elves are like that. Why does punishment have to be corporal?”

“Not like doing chores would be considered punishment to them,” Ron replied. “That’s their favourite thing in the world.”

“That’s a good point.” Hermione got up to dash down a quick note on all the parchment she’d moved off the table. “Thanks, Ron.”

Ron and Harry shared a look. Ron shrugged, looking pleased with himself. “In that case, give them a time-out. Worked for me as a kid on not getting to do anything fun. The same idea might work for them.”

“Ooh, nice.” Hermione’s quill quickened.

She returned to her seat afterward, looking pleased. Her spine was straighter as she returned to her meal. “So what else is going on besides work? Ron said you’re seeing someone, Harry.”

“Oh. . .yeah.” Harry cursed the heat that rose in his cheeks.

“He didn’t mention who.”

Harry turned a low brow on Ron, who snorted.

“Go on, then,” Ron said. “Didn’t figure it was my place.”

“Ron, don’t be such a git,” Hermione snipped. “Don’t make fun of Harry just because he can manage to settle on just _one_ woman.”

“To each their own.” Ron shrugged.

Hermione waved him off. “Who is it then, Harry?”

“Pansy Parkinson.”

Harry braced for Hermione to either recoil, laugh, or look horrified. She did none of those, although considered him with interest. “Huh.”

“Yep.” Harry poked at his pie, feeling a little defensive regardless that neither Ron or Hermione openly mocked him. He knew it came out of left field. It had for him too.

“I knew she fancied you, of course,” Hermione said. “She’s quite different from how she used to be, isn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“I almost felt bad for her, last year.” Hermione pushed around her dill carrots. “Well, I sort of did by spring. She had a rough year, but I think it was good for her in the end. Losing Malfoy was a big blow. Then her friends. Then Parvati and Lavender chewed her up and spit her out. It was nice of Ginny to give her a chance. I think by then, Pansy was ready to start looking at how the way she used to act was doing her no favours.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “She’s definitely different than I expected. We get on really well. She’s easy to talk to.”

Hermione gave Harry a fond smile. “So how long has this been going on, then? Can’t be too long, otherwise you would’ve said something at your birthday.”

“A little over a week. We’ve gone out a couple times.”

Ron had a smug look to him that reminded Harry of Malfoy. “Me and Ginny set them up.”

“Oh?” Hermione didn’t look sure if she should be amused or disapproving.

“Yep, Ginny said Pansy flipped afterward. She was on like cloud eleven though, once she got that out of her system.”

Harry’s stomach fluttered. He had been too. “It was good. We saw each other again Wednesday and last night.”

“Three dates,” Hermione mused. “So what about it, then? What are you two after?”

“We talked about it a bit yesterday,” Harry said. “We’re not going together or anything, but we’re going to keep on. We’re going slow. I don’t really know what I’m doing, and she doesn’t want to jump into anything after how everything with Malfoy went. It’s working for us so far.”

“That’s all that matters.”

Although initially reserved, Harry enjoyed talking about it once he was sure Ron and Hermione wouldn’t tease him. Harry had a good time with Hermione getting on Ron’s case about how much his gaze roamed around Diagon Alley (“It’s not like any of them have a problem with it,” Ron defended himself with. “They all know it’s just for fun.”) and Hermione gave them a little update on how things were going with Viktor.

Although Harry could’ve probably figured it out on his own, it still surprised him a little to find out he was the only one between the three of them that had yet to have sex. Ron had managed it with Emma Vane on Friday night, although Hermione had already been at it since a couple summers ago when she visited Viktor in Bucharest.

“How come you never told us?” Ron asked, sounding slightly offended.

Hermione shrugged. “Not your business. Viktor doesn’t much care for it, anyway. Of course it feels good and all, but he’s always been more of an emotional or intellectual kind of lover.”

“Huh.” Ron’s face was slightly screwed up. “To each their own.”

“ _I_ like it,” Hermione said with an impish grin. “We meet in the middle. It’s sweet, really.”

That made Harry feel a bit better about coming into the world of romance so late by normal standards. He was eighteen and so far he’d gotten one kiss and one date with Cho, and three dates with Pansy. During the last one, they held hands as they followed the flow of Muggle tourists down to Buckingham Palace. Pansy had sex before, which didn’t surprise Harry given she had gone with Malfoy for three years. Although Malfoy mentioned it so casually on Friday night, it didn’t bother Harry when he thought about it again later. The past was the past.

With Pansy on his mind, Harry left Hermione’s later feeling excited for when he’d see her again. He hoped his week would give him a chance to pop in at Diagon Alley. If it was too busy, Harry had thoughts to send Pansy something so she knew he was thinking about her. A note would suffice, or was it too early for something like flowers? Did Pansy _like_ flowers? Harry entered the Auror office on that thought the next morning, but it fell to the back burner when he glimpsed Kingsley in his office.

“Morning.” Harry entered his and Parasca’s cubicle. Parasca’s tea still steamed. “Kingsley’s back, hey?”

“Mhm.” Parasca flashed him a smile. “I thought you might like to do the honours.”

Harry was more than happy to. He didn’t bother sitting down, just slipped off his jacket and carried on. He rapped his knuckles against Kingsley’s door frame.

Kingsley looked up from the pile of forms he pored over, then relaxed at the prospect of being distracted from it. “Morning. Come on in.”

Harry passed the threshold and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Kingsley’s desk. “So the Crabbes and Goyles are all set up, then?”

“Mhm.” Kingsley leaned back in his chair. “Got something for me?”

“Er. . .”

“Why you’re here,” Kingsley clarified.

“Oh—no, I was going to ask _you_ for something, actually,” Harry said. “Parasca and I are kind of at a dead-end for the moment. I was thinking maybe I could farm some more information and see what comes of it. Could I have your memory of the night Erik Ramstad died?”

Kingsley hesitated, studying Harry. “You realize you would be seeing people die, right? Not just Erik. There were five deaths that night.”

Harry hadn’t really thought about it. His focus had been on seeing what mannerisms Erik and Hildegard might have showed before they changed their mind. There might be little details that couldn’t make sense until later.

“I’ve seen people die before,” Harry said. “I can’t say it won’t bother me, but I’m prepared for it. I’ll do it if I have to. It might be worth it.”

“All right then.” Kingsley sighed. “Do you have a vial?”

“Er, no,” Harry replied. “I also need access to a pensieve. If the Ministry doesn’t have one, I could write to Dumbledore.”

“I’ll write him,” Kingsley offered. “We share a messenger for Order business.”

“Cheers.”

Harry set off on finding a vial, which took up the next hour. Kingsley informed him Dumbledore was busy for the day, but could fit Harry and Parasca in tomorrow if they wanted to come up to Hogwarts. Their back-and-forth produced a time by the end of the workday, and Harry both anticipated and dreaded the prospect of witnessing an evening gone terribly wrong.

Ron had a grimace on his face as Harry told him about it over dinner. “Well. . .good luck is all I can say. You’ll tell me about it tomorrow?”

Harry nodded. “It’ll probably all be talked about at the next Order meeting too, if Parasca and I find anything interesting.”

Falling asleep was hard. When Harry wasn’t looking forward to advancing his search for Norheim, he was nervous. He didn’t end up clocking a lot of hours for rest. Regardless, he felt alert in the morning as he and Parasca filled out the necessary forms for them going out into the field. They headed for the Enforcement floo area. One would take them to Hogsmeade Station.

Harry had never seen it so dead. His usual experience here was either coming or going on the train. The station was always crammed then. It grew eerie without all that life, and Harry expected both Hogsmeade village and Hogwarts to feel much the same.

It tugged a bit at Harry’s heart as he and Parasca headed toward where Hogwarts’ towers were visible in the distance. He would really miss Hogsmeade weekends. He would miss _all_ of this.

Hagrid waved at the front gates, beaming, when he saw Harry coming. The gates clinked as Hagrid unlocked them, and he walked out to meet Harry. Harry grinned as Hagrid gave him a tight one-armed hug while Fang jumped up.

“ _Down_ ,” Hagrid tried to convince Fang, but he’d turned his ears off. “Ah well. Doin’ all right then, Harry? And good ter see yeh again, Kat.”

“You too,” she brightly replied. “It’s just too bad we’re not here for a leisurely visit.”

“Nah, but it’s nice ter see yeh two at all.” Hagrid’s eyes crinkled. “I’ll walk with yeh up ter the castle. Dumbledore’s in his office, I think. He told me just ter send yeh up. No password in the summer.”

Since Harry and Parasca came early, they chatted with Hagrid outside Hogwarts’ front doors. Harry wasn’t sure they’d be in the mood for visiting afterwards. It depended how impactful the contents of the vial in his pocket were.

The gargoyles outside Dumbledore’s office leapt aside without prompt. Harry knocked at the top.

“Come in,” came Dumbledore’s voice. He smiled at Harry and Parasca when they did. “Morning.”

“Morning, Professor,” Harry replied. “How’re you?”

“Oh, good.” Dumbledore set his quill down and stood up. He went to the cupboard where he kept the Hogwarts pensieve. “I don’t suppose you’re much in the mood for small-talk, though. Are you?”

Harry chuckled. “Little nervous, I guess.”

“That’s understandable.”

While Dumbledore busied himself with the heavy pensieve (Parasca offered to help), Harry dug out Kingsley’s memory from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. The silver contents swirled around by their own accord. He unstopped the cork and poured the memory in with the rest of them.

“Were you coming too, Professor?” Harry asked.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Dumbledore winked.

Harry was soon falling, unsure of up or down. Just as he started to feel uncomfortable with that, he straightened out. He was standing in front of the Ramstad manor house. Kingsley and a dozen other Aurors—most Harry recognized from the office, the rest from their obituaries—were with him. All looked serious as they approached the front door, framed by ornate columns.

Kingsley rang the doorbell. In the silence that followed, a couple of the Aurors shifted and looked around. Eventually, Harry heard steps from inside. Just like seeing now-dead Aurors, Harry felt strange to look upon Erik Ramstad when he opened the door. Although confused, he didn’t seem to have any clue he was currently living his final day.

“Mr. Shacklebolt,” Erik greeted him with an apprehensive nod. “What can I do for you?”

“Evening.” Kingsley gave him a slight smile. “I hate to show up unexpected, but we discussed a follow-up after our search of your manor house last summer.”

“Oh.” Erik opened the door far enough to admit them. “Sorry, you open your door to a bunch of Aurors, and the first thing you think about is your kid.”

“No need to worry,” Kingsley passed Erik by into the foyer. Harry, Dumbledore, and Kat followed along with the other Aurors. “Dagmar’s fine, as far as I know. Not in trouble, either.”

Erik chuckled mirthlessly. “That’s a relief, then.”

Hildegard stood at the top of the curved foyer stairs, leaned over the railing. She didn’t look too concerned about the whole thing, maybe more curious, Harry thought.

“Bit late, isn’t it?” Hildegard came downstairs. “Not that I’m complaining, just seems a bit odd to come after dinner. We were almost thinking about turning in early, actually.”

“We won’t keep you long,” Kingsley assured her as they briefly shook hands. “This is just a check-in, not a full search. Shall my team get started?”

“By all means.”

With that, the other Aurors all dispersed amongst the house. The ones Harry recognized as Order members stayed on the ground floor. The others headed upstairs. Kingsley stayed with Erik and Hildegard.

Hildegard shifted in the new silence. “Shall I ask for some tea? Would you take a cup, Kingsley?”

“Cheers.”

Kingsley followed Erik and Hildegard. They passed through the great room into the keeping room, where the fireplace probably kept it cozy in a way Harry couldn’t feel. Erik gestured for Kingsley to sit while Hildegard headed briefly for the kitchen. When Hildegard returned, she sat down next to Erik opposite Kingsley. Both seemed relaxed but unsure.

“Been keeping all right, then?” Kingsley asked them.

Erik shrugged. He’d rested his arm along the back of the love seat behind where Hildegard sat. He idly played with some of her hair. “Just doing what we do. Thinking about going on a trip to get away for a while, but we haven’t decided where yet. Maybe Barcelona. It’s supposed to start getting nice there in April. Have you ever been?”

Kingsley had, so they chatted about that for a little while. Erik was more keen to hear about it than Hildegard, Harry figured. She didn’t engage in the conversation unless prompted. Her gaze kept on the rest of the house, watching the other Aurors. She pursed her lips and looked unimpressed in a way Harry recognized from Ramstad when Aurors entered her and Erik’s bedroom on the upstairs landing.

The Aurors would come by to tell Kingsley that certain rooms were clear. The last place checked off was the drawing room. The Aurors had all congregated on that job. They now lingered in the great room.

“If you would wait in the foyer, I’ll be along,” Kingsley told them all.

They nodded and disappeared from sight. Kingsley had made good work of his tea, about half of it. He set the cup down on the table between him and the Ramstads.

“One last order of business,” Kingsley said. “Erik, may I see your left forearm?”

Erik blinked. Hildegard’s expression remained neutral, but Harry noticed some colour seeping into it. She swallowed.

“My—?” Erik furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Just a formality,” Kingsley replied. “Perhaps you’re aware, maybe you’re not, but Voldemort marks his followers with a skull and snake on the left forearm. He doesn’t give it to all Death Eaters, just the ones he’s closest to. In order to fully close this investigation on your manor, I must verify that you have not been given the Dark Mark.”

“Lucius told me about that, now you mention it,” Erik said. “He said that when he’d been placed under the Imperius Curse, he was marked with it. Lots were. Can that really be an indicator then of who’s a Death Eater and who isn’t?”

“For somebody that was around before Voldemort disappeared, sure.” Kingsley humoured him. “There are indeed plenty of innocent people walking around with the unwanted scars of days past. You were never tried for that, and I don’t believe you were even in Britain, correct? So, if you have no Dark Mark, it’s as expected. If you do, then it begs the question of when you obtained it. You don’t have one, though. Right? You have nothing to hide. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Erik stared at Kingsley. Harry could tell that both the Ramstads were thinking really hard. They clearly hadn’t been expecting that question because it _was_ somewhat of a taboo to ask people about their left forearms. For every person like Lucius Malfoy, there were five that were innocent. Erik, as a newcomer to Voldemort’s fold, didn’t have any luxury of hiding behind that.

“Perhaps the time has come to speak more frankly, in that case,” Kingsley said when Erik didn’t reply. “My office has received intelligence from very reliable, corroborating sources that the two of you serve Voldemort. You joined shortly after Voldemort returned in June of 1995. Only you, Erik, have the mark. I also believe you know the outcome of the initial raid team that arrived here last June, even if their bodies are long gone and nothing can be proven. You’ve been allowing your manor house to be used as a base of operations for Voldemort.”

Both Ramstads stared at Kingsley, impossible to read.

“Thing is, I’m also aware that neither of you chose this,” Kingsley said. “Voldemort is holding something over you two. You knew him back in the late seventies, didn’t you? Perhaps you were foolish in your youth, naive, and didn’t know exactly who you were getting involved with. Maybe you thought it was all over when Voldemort disappeared and the wizarding world presumed him dead. He returned, though. With him, whatever binds you. Let me and Dumbledore help you to sever it.”

“Dumbledore,” Hildegard repeated, tone flat.

Kingsley nodded. “Whatever you’ve done, you did it because you had to. I don’t believe you’re bad people, perhaps just in over your head. Dagmar—”

“Don’t.” Hildegard’s tone turned dangerous. “Leave our daughter out of this.”

“We’ve kept an eye on her at Hogwarts,” Kingsley kept on about her anyway. “She has no affiliation with Voldemort, nor any sympathy. What kind of future do you want to give her? One where she lives in shame of her parents in Azkaban, or one where she keeps her family?”

“Wait.” Erik raised a hand. “Are you arresting us? What for?”

“Death Eater activity,” Kingsley answered. “Unless you agree to make a deal. Considering you have no real sympathies with Voldemort, this decision should really be a no-brainer.”

Erik remained stoic, but Hildegard was cracking. She trembled in her seat, her eyes reddening. Harry could almost hear her teeth chattering. Erik rested a hand on her knee, his thumb making slow circles. It didn’t seem to help.

“What exactly is Dumbledore’s plan?” Erik asked.

“To stop Voldemort, obviously,” Kingsley answered. He, like Harry, was regarding Hildegard closely. “The best way to do that is chip away at his inner circle. We have already successfully removed two others. They have been helpful in providing insight to what Voldemort is up to. If I knew—if Dumbledore knew—what you’re working on with Voldemort, perhaps we could help.”

“Are you talking about Hugo and Everett?” Erik asked.

“Yes.”

“What did they tell you?”

“That you’re looking for someone named Magnus Norheim,” Kingsley replied. “They told us Norheim stole something of significant value from Voldemort.”

Hildegard clamped her jaw in an effort to stop shaking so badly. She wasn’t doing very well for it. Her eyes shone, followed by her cheeks as her blinks pushed the tears free.

Kingsley returned his attention to her. “Hildegard?”

“You don’t understand.” She sniffled, voice small and trembling. “He can’t die. I need him alive.”

“We don’t intend to do anything like that to Norheim.”

Rather than acknowledge Kingsley, Hildegard looked at Erik. He considered her the same way she did him, and a furrow came to Kingsley’s brow. He was sitting up straighter as he realized the situation was slowly slipping out of his grasp. It fell completely when Erik reached into his robe. Out came his wand, and up went his sleeve.

“No!” Kingsley stood up, his own wand in hand in a flourish. He stared at the Dark Mark on Erik’s arm, jet black. “Incoming!”

That word was hardly out of Kingsley’s mouth when pops and cracks lit up the house. Erik was on Kingsley, Hildegard not far behind once her wand was out. Kingsley blocked jets of light from both of them. It started out in the great room as well.

Having been in this situation before, Harry’s own hand twitched toward the pocket his wand was in. It was weird to watch and know there was nothing he could do to help. There was no changing the outcome. Even stranger than watching was weaving through the participants. Harry couldn’t tell who the Death Eaters were since they were masked, although he definitely recognized the manic giggles of Bellatrix Lestrange. She shot Killing Curse after Killing Curse at the Aurors.

The Aurors were lucky they could dodge, and that they were greater in number. Still, bodies were dropping. Harry expected four dead Aurors by the end. There were already two on the floor. Harry tried not to look at them or at the other two he knew would soon be in the same boat. One of them yelled out—the last thing he ever did. A jet of green light hit him.

Bellatrix laughed as his body rolled to a stop. “It’s over, now!”

Voldemort stood above them all on the second floor landing. He still pointed his wand at the dead Auror. There was a brief lull as both sides realized he’d arrived, and then they were right back to it. Kingsley and Hildegard stayed in the keeping room, but Erik had engaged with somebody else. The Aurors had to keep an eye not only on whoever they duelled with but Voldemort as well as he rained down Killing Curses.

They weren’t landing, though. Harry furrowed his brow. He’d faced Voldemort and the Death Eaters a couple times now, and he’d never seen them come at an enemy so efficiently. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain from these Aurors disappearing the same way the enforcement officers had last summer. The Death Eaters were doing their best, but Voldemort. . .

Harry moved as closely as he could to see Voldemort within the confines of Kingsley’s memory. Voldemort wasn’t moving very fast.

“Why is he so slow?” Harry asked Dumbledore and Parasca.

At that prompt, the two of them joined Harry where he stood. Voldemort looked angry, but it was convoluted at the edge of Kingsley’s memory—a detail noted solely by his subconscience. As Voldemort tried to better grasp his wand, his right arm gave a sudden, involuntary jerk.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. He opened his mouth but was interrupted by Erik Ramstad apparating in front of Voldemort. The last Auror destined to fall had just finished yelling the incantation and a split-second later, green light burst against Erik’s chest. He was flung back against Voldemort, who fell with him.

“Erik!” Hildegard’s screech cut the pandemonium. Kingsley took her down with a Stunning Spell. Another Death Eater had stopped, gaze stuck to the second landing, and they soon joined Hildegard stunned on the floor.

Voldemort didn’t reappear on the landing. He was gone.

“Fall back!” Bellatrix yelled to the rest of them.

They started disapparating, but one more was snagged by an Auror. The great room fell suddenly quiet. The still-standing Aurors looked everywhere for another potential ambush.

A tense minute followed. Afterward, Kingsley relaxed as much as the situation allowed. “Check on Bailey, Webb, Rogers, and O’Kelly. See that they’re actually dead and not just stunned.”

Kingsley started shaking slightly as the adrenaline bled out of him. He pointed another Auror toward Hildegard’s stunned form to restrain her in case she woke up. He went to the closer of the Death Eaters, the one hit by chance. It was Rodolphus Lestrange behind the mask. Kingsley grunted and moved on to the one that had frozen after Erik went down.

“Lucius Malfoy,” one of the Aurors standing with Kingsley said with surprise. “He—?”

“Three for Azkaban,” Kingsley cut him off. “Is Erik’s body still up there?”

“I’ll check.”

“Damn,” Kingsley whispered under his breath as he surveyed the room, face long. “Well, there’s nothing else for it, I guess. Let’s get out of here before they all come back.”

That marked the end of the memory. Harry was floating again, Ramstad Manor vanishing in place of Dumbledore’s office. The sky was as blue as when they’d left it, and the castle peaceful in its quietness. Harry’s brow was furrowed as he thought over everything he’d just seen. That was the first time he’d laid eyes on Voldemort since the Department of Mysteries. In a little over two years—or a little under, considering what Harry had just seen happened in March—Voldemort wasn’t looking good.

“Interesting,” Dumbledore said. “Very interesting. I wondered if Voldemort might be injured.”

“Injured?” Harry perked up. “How?”

“Back on Easter, Dagmar told me why you saw the Little Hangleton graveyard in her mind—”

“I know,” Harry said. “Malfoy told me Voldemort took her there.”

“Oh, good,” Dumbledore brightly replied. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“No,” Harry realized. “We were talking about something else. Malfoy mentioned it just for context.”

“Dagmar told me that Voldemort requested she show him her use of the Heafonfýr Curse,” Dumbledore said. “She used it on him.”

Harry’s eyebrows slowly rose. “So what would that have done? That curse was what, again? Lightning?”

Dumbledore nodded. “As far as the Cruciatus Curse is concerned, the Heafonfýr Curse is what’s responsible for the blinding pain. The Cruciatus Curse leaves no physical ailment in its victim, but the Heafonfýr Curse does. We saw it when Dagmar injured herself after using it wandlessly last summer.”

“How hard would Ramstad have had to hit Voldemort with that curse to make him still feel it almost a year later?”

“She did say he went down.”

Harry pressed his lips together, arms folded. “I wonder if she would give me her memory of it. If Voldemort is hurt, that might change some things. It could have more to do with why he’s so quiet lately. It might be why Erik jumped in the way.”

Saying that, Harry’s mouth worked. He couldn’t imagine Ramstad at all intended to have a hand in her father’s death.

“You could always ask,” Dumbledore said. “Maybe don’t mention what you just said about Erik. I daresay Dagmar’s had enough grief in regards to him.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed in an empty voice. “I won’t. I’ll just ask for the memory.”

Harry and Parasca left Dumbledore’s office on that note. Parasca looked deep in thought as they walked through the castle.

“Something on your mind?” Harry prompted her.

“I’m just thinking about when Erik summoned Voldemort,” Parasca replied. “What Hildegard said, more specifically. She said she needed him alive, but not if she was talking about Norheim or Voldemort. Kingsley seemed to assume.”

Harry hummed. “Well, when we interviewed Crabbe and Goyle, Voldemort had told them that Norheim was no use to him dead. Why would Hildegard need Voldemort alive?”

“Not sure.”

The thought of it followed Harry back to London. He wrote to Malfoy and Ramstad in the messenger. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see a response when he checked after lunch: _Draco here. I wrote Dagmar to ask about it and she said she’ll be home at seven our time. Come by tonight if you want to._

 _I will then if you’d let her know,_ Harry replied with.

Seven o’clock in Bergen was only six in London. Harry headed home when he got off work and puttered for a bit getting things ready for dinner later. He watched the clock closely and decided to give Ramstad a little bit of time to wind down. It was close to seven-thirty when he stepped out of her fireplace. Ramstad was sitting on the couch under a throw with a book open across her lap.

Ramstad raised the hand she held a quill with in greeting. “Hey—ow!”

Her smile slipped quickly to a frown as her cat skittered off the couch and slunk around through the kitchen before running up the stairs at full tilt. Ramstad got up and inspected her leg. The cat’s nails had dug in enough to draw blood.

Ramstad tsked. “Anyway, tea or anything? Or are you just in and out?”

Harry hesitated. “You know, I’d take some tea. No Malfoy?”

“Nei.” Ramstad headed for the kitchen. “He’s at work.”

“Right.”

Harry took the same stool he had on Saturday while having breakfast with Ramstad and Malfoy. It was a little too late now for Harry to feel awkward about meeting Ramstad by herself. The only other times they’d interacted on their own were during Defence lessons.

“So, what’s this about?” Ramstad asked as she filled the kettle at the sink. “Draco said you didn’t give specifics other than asking me for something.”

Harry hesitated before deciding to be straight with her. That method of approach had worked much better than being vague or sneaky. “Parasca and I made some possible headway today. It wasn’t to do with Norheim, but Voldemort. Kingsley got back yesterday from relocating the Crabbes and Goyles, and we got the memory off him of the night he approached your parents.”

Ramstad’s expression grew solemn.

“We noticed that Voldemort seemed slow,” Harry said. “Dumbledore said it was possible you injured him in the graveyard.”

“Hm.” A slow smirk came over Ramstad. Harry was kind of glad he could move her toward smug satisfaction rather than concern about what kind of indirect hand she may have played in Erik’s death. “Well, I’m certainly not sorry, if that’s the case.”

“What I was wondering is if I could get your memory from the graveyard. If Voldemort might be vulnerable after what happened, I’d like to know how.”

Ramstad tried to hide her hesitation as she moved over to the stovetop with the kettle.

“Just the graveyard?” she asked after turning on the element.

“Was there more than that?”

“Voldemort and I talked beforehand. I figured if Dumbledore told you about the graveyard, then he must’ve told you that too.”

Harry hummed. “What did he talk to you about?”

“Said I created a bunch of extra work for him because I got in trouble in France.” Ramstad waved it off, then chuckled. “He was trying to be manipulative about it. Something about ‘another one lost to the idea that dark arts are inherently bad’. I guess I kind of understand his point to that, but not the way he wanted me to. I was scared of him until that night. I couldn’t believe that people actually believed him when he talked. He wouldn’t be anybody without the Death Eaters. If they ever wanted to, they could probably chew him up and spit him right back out.”

“He’s got some very capable people under him.”

“I think he thought I was on his side when he asked to see me.” Ramstad leaned over the island. “I still can’t get far enough back with my mum to know if there’s a chance she knew him before he disappeared. My dad, probably not. He didn’t even meet my mum until 1983. He must’ve had some ideas about pure blood if he eventually took the Dark Mark. He could’ve left when Mum started getting involved in all that again. He could’ve even taken me, biological father or not. It was summer. I was home. I would’ve gone.”

Harry nodded.

“Anyway,” Ramstad quickly said. “I never met Voldemort until that night, so I guess whatever he knew about me was what he’d heard from my parents. It felt that night like he was sizing me up. If I had the same ideas as him about pure blood, I could see how the things he’d said might make sense. I was mad that I got in so much trouble for defending myself. You met Marigot, maybe you saw just how intimidating she is. She made me and my parents sit there all night. She told me she’d let Kingsley know what happened, and it worried me that having a record might wreck my chances of getting on at a hospital. All that, just because I got cornered.”

“Right.”

“He used Legilimency on me.” While Ramstad mulled things over, she filled a tea ball. “If I tell you something, will it stay between us? I think I did the right thing, but Voldemort messed up my thoughts about it because he agreed with me. He was the first one I ever told because he saw it, and he understood.”

“I can keep it to myself if it’s not something relevant to finding Norheim.”

“It’s not,” Ramstad assured him. She still hesitated a little. “Draco knows, and I declared it to my dean of medicine when I started at the hospital. It’s not a total secret in that case, but Voldemort saw that I’d used the Killing Curse before. I don’t know if you ever saw Grim, my old cat that died a couple years ago. He was really sick. I put him down and buried him in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Honestly probably the only situation using that Curse makes sense.”

“Ja, that’s what I thought.” Ramstad nodded jerkily. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it. Grim was a good cat. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer, but he just wouldn’t go. I thought it was the last act of love I could give him. He deserved to die with dignity.”

Harry just nodded.

“Voldemort twisted that.” Ramstad scoffed, her face turning downward into a sneer. “Asked why I’d feel bad about ‘relieving a creature I had charge over’, and I know he was angling that it was all _he_ ever did before. As if all the people he ever killed were pets or something. Like he was doing them all a favour.”

Harry thought about his parents and Sirius. “That’s what he thinks?”

“Doubt it. He was just talking out his arse to try and warm me up to him.”

“Yeah.”

“He saw that same house _you_ saw when you used Legilimency on me.” Ramstad moved them on. “Asked if I knew where it was.”

“Like he was looking for it?”

“Not sure.”

“Dumbledore and I checked out a place to see if that was it, but it wasn’t.” Harry folded his arms on the island top, leaned forward. “Any ideas where it was?”

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.” Ramstad pressed her lips together. “Although, if Voldemort was asking about it, it must be a real place. Maybe it’s something I remember from when I was younger. I used to always be under the impression I grew up in Bergen. Apparently I lived in Tromsø before that. Maybe it’s an old house.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about that. “Back when we had Order meetings at Hogwarts and were keeping an eye on all of you, Snape mentioned you were an Occlumens. He said he’d taught you because you had nightmares, and that you saw a house. That was the house, right?”

Ramstad nodded, her brow furrowing afterward. “I don’t think about them very much anymore because I stopped having them after I met Voldemort.”

“Oh, really?”

“Couldn’t tell you why.” Ramstad shrugged. “I certainly don’t miss them. They weren’t scary or anything, but they cocked me up. I was sick nearly every morning.”

“What happened in them?”

“I’d wake up in that house, in a room.” The kettle reached a boil. Ramstad pulled it off the stove before it could whistle. She filled the tea pot. “I’d walk out to the landing, the one you saw. Everything was fine until then, and then it’s like everything went wrong. I could feel it. There was noise coming from the middle room, the room next to the one I woke up in. I’d open the door. There was a man in there. I’d wake up before I could see his face because I was so scared.”

Harry accepted an empty cup that Ramstad handed him as she sat down. “Well, if that house is somewhere you used to live, do you think you were maybe remembering something when you used to dream about it?”

“Oh. . .maybe.” Ramstad rubbed her chin. “I don’t know that I would’ve been young enough in the nightmares for it to be Voldemort. I was only like fourteen or fifteen months old when he disappeared.”

“I remember it.”

Ramstad studied Harry, her eyes searching. “You do?”

“Sort of.” Harry dropped his gaze to his cup, hesitating before reaching for the tea pot to fill it. “I used to try and remember my parents when I was a kid. My aunt and uncle that raised me told me they died in a car crash. I remembered a flash of green and thought maybe it was a traffic light or something.”

“Fy faen.”

Harry had no idea what that meant, but Ramstad’s meaning came across well enough in her tone for Harry to understand. He nodded.

“Maybe I could remember seeing Voldemort then,” Ramstad said. “I was up and walking, though. I wasn’t in a crib. I don’t think I could’ve been that young.”

“One possibility we’d all discussed when we couldn’t find where you were born is that you might have a different birthday,” Harry replied. “Maybe you’re older than you realize.”

“I don’t know. . .” Ramstad poured her tea. “Depends how the Trace works. I got nailed for underage magic five days before my seventeenth birthday. When I used magic at midnight on the date, I didn’t get another visit. So if the Trace knows dates better than you do, there are only five days variance in my possible birthday.”

“Hm, yeah.” Harry would have to look into that. “What if it was Norheim?”

“In the dream?” Ramstad asked. “I don’t know. I never saw the man’s face, and I don’t even know what Norheim looks like.”

“Nobody ever showed you a picture of him?”

Ramstad shook her head. “Professor Dumbledore asked me if the name meant anything, but that’s it.”

Harry debated with himself. “Would you bear with me if I ran back to London and grabbed one to show you?”

“Ja, sure.”

Since it was a little later now and past the peak hours of travel, it only took about fifteen minutes for Harry to make it from Ramstad’s place to the British Ministry. The Auror office was open around the clock, although he definitely got some looks for being there so late. Tonks waved at him, but could maybe tell Harry was on a mission. When Harry returned to Ramstad’s, she was back in the living room with her books.

“Sorry,” Harry said as she closed them again. “I won’t take too much more of your time.”

“It’s okay.” She held out her hand. “Can I see?”

Harry gave it to her. Ramstad had a placid smile on her face, just as eager as Harry to sort something out. Harry watched her reaction closely as she saw Norheim for the first time. Her smile melted first, gradually taking the colour from her face.

“You recognize him then?” Harry asked.

“Maybe.” Ramstad’s gaze was stuck on the otherwise pleasant and unassuming photograph. It struck Harry then that in the picture, Norheim was no older than they were now. “Nothing’s really coming to mind, but looking at him knots my stomach up.”

She held the picture back out to Harry, face down. Her hand trembled slightly.

Harry took it. “You’ll let me know if you remember anything?”

“Ja,” Ramstad breathed. “I will.”

“Much as I hate to run when I barely even touched my tea. . .” Harry glanced at the kitchen. “I kinda feel like I took enough of your time and energy tonight with all this.”

“Did you still want my memory of the graveyard?”

“Oh—yeah.”

Ramstad stood up from the couch while Harry dug the vial he’d brought out of his pocket. She mindlessly massaged her hands in front of her stomach. “Not that there’s probably anything new in it now, but do you want the part of me and Voldemort talking beforehand? Maybe there’s something there you’ll find helpful.”

“If you’re offering, sure.” Harry pulled out his wand. “Er, ever done this before?”

Ramstad shook her head, so Harry walked her through it. She closed her eyes as she drug up the entire memory, her brow slightly furrowed. It came away from her looking like a piece of her light-blonde hair. It spooled nicely into the vial.

She looked a little tired on this side of their chat. Harry was too, to the point that he was kind of glad Ron hadn’t made it home yet. Harry was too hungry for patience to cook, so ended up making some sandwiches before going to bed early.

He sat up against his headboard under a torch, updating his homeside messenger on everything he had seen today. Ramstad had a physical reaction to seeing a picture of Norheim. Harry wondered if Erik ever knew him, or if Norheim had made himself scarce by late 1983. Harry also couldn’t say beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had proof Norheim ever met Voldemort either.

Although he hesitated toward it, Harry dashed a note down in Norheim’s profile: _most likely Dagmar’s father_. That at least felt like some sort of certainty, and maybe a conclusion that Ramstad would herself reach after their discussion. Maybe Hildegard had started her life amongst the druids, but she could’ve met Norheim anytime after June 1976 when he finished at Kapsferd.

Harry looked back at Hildegard’s information, then pressed his lips together. In 1976, she was only fourteen years old. It didn’t seem likely for her to fall in with a seventeen year old boy. If Ramstad was born in August 1980, then somebody had to be around in late 1979 to help make that happen. By that time, Norheim would’ve been twenty or twenty-one years old. Hildegard would’ve been seventeen. That age difference was a bit more acceptable with those numbers.

For the sake of argument then, say Norheim and Hildegard knew each other by the beginning of 1980. When then did Hildegard meet with Voldemort? And why? It was less than two years between then and when Voldemort disappeared.

Harry was starting to lose sight of answers again. Rather than press it, he closed up the messenger, stopped his ink, and set it aside. He would come back to it tomorrow after he saw what, exactly, Ramstad’s memory held.


	21. Symmetry

Dagmar ended up going to bed early after Potter left, unable to focus on her studying. She had vague hopes of maybe tackling it in the morning if she woke up early, but doubted it would happen. It didn’t help that she stirred out of sleep when Draco slipped into bed. There was enough light from impending dawn for Dagmar to see his silhouette.

“I was trying not to wake you,” he whispered when Dagmar ran a hand over his middle.

“Mm.”

Dagmar pressed up closer anyway. She’d fallen asleep earlier worried that seeing Norheim’s face and feeling what she had about it would bring her nightmares back. Although Dagmar’s dreams were certainly unsettling, they weren’t the type to leave her in a pool of sweat.

Draco’s fingers ran through Dagmar’s hair as they situated against each other. “So what did Potter want?”

“My memory of the graveyard.”

“You gave it to him?”

“Ja.” Dagmar paused. “He showed me a picture of Norheim.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“In a weird way. Emotionally, not like a normal memory. He left a pit in my stomach, and I can’t say it was the picture itself. It was just a portrait of him.”

“Hm.”

Dagmar chewed on her bottom lip. “I never put it together about those old dreams I used to have. That man I used to see, Potter suggested maybe it was Norheim. That old nightmare could be a memory. If it was, if I knew Norheim before my dad. . .you know, maybe _he’s_ the one. Not Dad.”

It felt dirty in a way to say that. Whatever grief or regret Dagmar felt about Erik Ramstad, there was still no other man she would ever call her father. Erik had raised her well aware she wasn’t his. If it didn’t matter to him, it didn’t matter to Dagmar.

“It’s only natural to wonder, right?” Dagmar asked.

“Yeah,” Draco replied. “We all want to know where we came from.”

“He doesn’t look like me, is the thing.” Dagmar half-wished she’d asked to keep Magnus Norheim’s picture. At the same time, she’d wanted it out of her house. “We don’t look alike at all.”

“Genes are weird, aren’t they?” Draco rubbed her back. “Your mum didn’t really leave much room for whoever your dad is to have much say in your appearance.”

Dagmar snorted. “Nei, I suppose that’s true.”

“Wonder what he might have to say for himself then, if Potter and Professor Parasca find him.”

“Don’t know.” Dagmar sighed. “I hope they do. I know none of it matters for who I am now. Maybe it won’t even have an effect on my life, but I want to know what my mum’s never told me. I have nowhere to go really on us being descended from druids, because how do you find something that doesn’t want to be found? But if Potter found Norheim. . .maybe I could put some of that uncertainty away.”

“Do you think you’d want a relationship with him?”

Dagmar’s gut reaction was a no, but she let herself think about it. “Depends why I feel sick when I look at him.”

“Yeah.”

Dagmar curled up against Draco, needlessly guiding him closer for a little bit of a snog. Because Dagmar was so busy with work and studying, she didn’t really have much time to think about the past. She was too stuck in the present, and focused on the future. Even these two weeks barely seeing Draco when they were on opposite schedules wasn’t that bad. Dagmar used the opportunity to start whittling away at the practicum hours required for her program, and then her homework kept her busy otherwise.

Of course, Dagmar anticipated that they would catch up with each other on the weekend. She kipped when she got home Thursday, and stayed up for when Draco made it home from work a little past midnight. Draco pushed his bedtime later every night in preparation for his first night shift come Sunday, so he was more than eager to pass the deepest parts of night with Dagmar. They started in the kitchen as Draco warmed up a plate of dinner, migrated to the bath, and then ended up in bed. Draco still wasn’t ready to fall asleep afterward, aiming to make it to at least six o’clock. Dagmar tried, but for the life of her couldn’t stay awake with him.

Draco was in a dead sleep still when Dagmar woke up close to ten. She didn’t know how Draco managed, since it was Heimdall making a racket downstairs that roused her. Carefully as Dagmar could, she slipped out of bed and closed the bedroom door behind her. Dagmar rolled her eyes to see Heimdall watching an owl out on the deck. His tail swished and he stood with his paws up against one of the windows.

He wouldn’t let himself be caught when Dagmar tried. She had to push Heimdall out of the way with her foot as he tried to slip out the kitchen door with her. Dagmar didn’t recognize the owl, although it was nondescript like the ones Potter used to send before they got their messengers. The owl let Dagmar take the letter, even though it was addressed to Draco. It flew away.

Dagmar’s hands started to tremble from excitement as she studied the familiar handwriting, her heart thumping against her rib cage. She headed back inside and let Heimdall out along the way. Dagmar hesitated in the kitchen. Draco normally slept until past noon right now.

He wouldn’t want to wait if he knew what Dagmar had. Dagmar headed back upstairs. Draco didn’t rouse when she entered the room, although he’d rolled to face Dagmar’s side. His arm laid over her pillow. Dagmar sat down between his backside and the edge of the bed.

Draco groaned when Dagmar shook his hip.

“You might want to wake up,” Dagmar told him as he turned his face more into the pillow. “Your mum wrote you.”

Draco’s head popped up, his eyes bleary. A couple of his joints cracked as he rolled over. His hands trembled similarly to Dagmar’s when he snatched the letter and opened it. His eyes blurred as his gaze darted back and forth. Dagmar resituated so that she could read the letter as well:

_Draco (and Dagmar),_

_First of all, I’m sorry for how quiet I’ve been. I hope it hasn’t worried you. It’s harder than I thought to access something like the post when trying to stay off the radar. As much as I’d love to hear back from you, I had to compromise on no return mail for this to be possible._

_I saw a little bit about how you two are doing from nicking the Prophet out of bins. House Cup, Quidditch Cup, graduating with distinction…well done! I’m very proud. I’m also relieved you were able to keep it together after everything that happened. Yes…I read about that too. I’m sorry about your dad, Dagmar. He was a very dear friend of mine and I had no idea how that night was going to go. I hope you two are doing all right without Lucius and Hildegard around as well._

_I’m looking forward to when we can all see each other again. We’ll probably have a lot to tell about how these months apart have been. For now, just imagine your mother (and mother-in-law) with her toes in the sand._

_Lots of love,  
_ _Mum_

Dagmar put an arm around Draco’s shoulders. Her chest grew heavy, even if it was a nice letter. Dagmar pressed a kiss to the side of Draco’s head when he sniffled.

“It’s okay,” she told him.

“I know.” Draco wiped his eyes. “I’m not sad.”

Dagmar nodded against the top of Draco’s head when he rested it on her. She ran her fingers through his hair as the brunt of his emotions passed.

“Sounds like she’s having a good time, anyway.” Draco cleared his throat. “I’m sure she’s all torn up about everything with Father and your parents, but she’d never put that in a letter. She wouldn’t want us to feel bad.”

“I don’t feel bad,” Dagmar said. “All the power to her for having the choice to stay out of this. I might be jealous if we hadn’t managed so well ourselves.”

Other than offering Potter the occasional hand, Dagmar and Draco’s life hadn’t been deeply affected by the fallout of their families’ disgrace. Gunvor had mentioned to Draco that, after Lucius’ arrest, Dumbledore wrote her to request that Gunvor not count it against Draco when considering employing him. Arne never said anything about it, but Dagmar suspected he’d received something similar. Dagmar was all the more appreciative that Arne was so forgiving, and maybe that was why she was so motivated to do well in her Healer program. Certainly, whenever Narcissa could come home, Draco and Dagmar would have much more good than bad to tell her about.

It was a nice way to start their weekend. Dagmar stuck around upstairs with Draco for a bit before he was able to fall back asleep. Dagmar ended up crawling in with him toward the end, tired from sleeping weird hours and then being woken up prematurely.

Dagmar figured ahead that Draco would be too screwed up Sunday to do anything other than lay around. She planned to go to the hospital for nine o’clock that morning to put some practicum hours in. Just as Dagmar predicted, Draco was out of it when he showed up home a little bit after eight. Dagmar had breakfast made for him, and he was asleep upstairs before she left.

Ingrid didn’t work on Sundays, so another Healer named Vegard took Dagmar on. He was responsible for overseeing the production of the hospital’s potion supply, so Dagmar settled in for a day of making several batches of various antidotes and treatment potions. Another Healer apprentice working there was named Kristen. She was in her second year of the program, so chatting with her about her experience so far was a decent way to fill dead air.

Dagmar was just portioning out a completed cauldron of Calming Draught when the lab door opened. It was Arne. He raised a hand in greeting at her across the room on his way to Vegard. Dagmar returned to her work, although slowed again when she heard her name between them. Arne came over to her station.

“Just about done?” he asked her.

“Mhm,” Dagmar replied. “Need something?”

“I have a patient I wanted some assistance on,” he said. “Well, not really assistance—you’ll see what I mean.”

Intrigued, Dagmar finished what she was doing as quickly as she could. Arne waited for her outside the lab. Dagmar let Vegard know she’d be back afterward if she could be, to which he nodded. Arne jerked his head in the direction he started off walking in, compelling Dagmar to fall in-step beside him.

“I thought of a way this morning we might be able to apply your ability,” Arne told her. “I talked to the patient about this, and she’s open if it’s something you’re interested in. Patient’s name is Jorunn Esmark, thirty-eight year old female and currently pregnant. She would call herself a frequent visitor at Olaf Kyrre. This pregnancy is number five in the last decade. All other four were healthy as well.”

Dagmar nodded slowly as she pondered that over. “There’s nothing wrong with her?”

“Nei.” Arne glanced at Dagmar. “That’s why I thought this was a unique opportunity to try something. We have a solid history with Jorunn, where her pregnancies are a baseline normal. If you’re potentially able to sense what that feels like from the inside, we might be in a good position to advance our prenatal care at the hospital.”

“Interesting.”

Dagmar hadn’t had much interaction with pregnant people before—any, really, now she thought about it. She was a little nervous for that, not to mention how much more vulnerable a fetus was compared to a fully-developed adult. Dagmar was comfortable enough to say she had a good handle on her ability. She hadn’t used it anymore extensively than she had on Arne as a test prior to starting the program. Patients in urgent care primarily stressed about whatever accident brought them there. Dagmar could calm them down by slowing their heart to a normal range. One patient had presented with severe bradycardia. Dagmar brought it back down and held him there until he was able to receive proper care with a specialist. It wasn’t until later Dagmar wondered if she might have saved his life with timely intervention. She never asked since the question seemed redundant with him having left Olaf Kyrre by the time she returned the next afternoon.

Arne led Dagmar to the maternity wing. Despite Dagmar’s recent self-allowance toward the idea of someday having a child, she felt no envy toward a woman sitting in a wheelchair by the desk. Her face shone with sweat and a hand on her extended belly appeared to do little in tapering off the pain she was in. Her partner looked just about as stressed as he went back and forth between trying to comfort her and talking to Admission.

Off to the right was the prenatal ward. There was a small waiting room, half the chairs of which were taken by pregnant women and their partners. A couple small children played together with the toys provided by the hospital.

Beyond them was a short hallway with patient rooms. Arne knocked on the first one on the right, then let himself and Dagmar in when invited.

There was another Healer there. Jorunn Esmark herself sat up on the exam room table, her ankles crossed and fingers folded together at the top of her baby bump. She wore an easy, relaxed smile.

“Hallo,” she greeted Dagmar in a singsong tone. “Jorunn, nice to meet you.”

“Dagmar.” Dagmar took her hand.

“So how exactly does this work, then?” Jorunn asked.

“Erm. . .” Dagmar looked across the table at Arne. “I guess it depends what we’re doing. Am I just feeling for a heartbeat, or. . .?”

“We could start there,” Arne suggested. “That should be pretty easy. I’m curious what all you could tell about the fetus with your ability. We know how far along she is, but I don’t want to give too much away. See what you can do.”

“Okay.” Dagmar grew a little nervous since she hadn’t expected to be tested today. “Is it all right if I put my hand on your belly, Jorunn? I’ve found it’s easier if I’m as close as possible to the patient’s heart.”

“Here.”

Jorunn pushed the top of her pants down to the base of her bump and lifted her shirt above her navel.

“Basically what I do is feel for the electrical charges that naturally occur within the human body,” Dagmar explained. “Since blood is a conductor, I can follow the paths, so to speak. I can feel where it flows, or where it doesn’t but is supposed to. To be forthcoming, I am able to manipulate those charges. I have control over that, but I haven’t been using this ability for very long. There’s a lot to learn about it, and I’m unsure when I might be surprised by something new.”

“Hence why we’re doing this little experiment, right?” Jorunn asked.

Dagmar nodded. “You just need to be informed before we continue.”

“Right. So all feeling, no doing?”

“That’s what I intend to do, ja.”

“Go for it.”

With Jorunn’s consent, Dagmar rested her hand near the bottom of Jorunn’s bump. She took a deep breath, and on her exhale released her emotions similarly to clearing her mind with Occlumency. She could feel a rapid flutter, although it seemed muted. Dagmar shifted her hand around for a better angle.

Although it was still muffled because of Jorunn’s belly wall separating them, Dagmar figured she found the fetus’ back. She couldn’t make it come through any stronger. It also didn’t feel like she needed to. Dagmar closed her eyes to better her focus. As the fetus’ heart pumped blood through its body, Dagmar gathered more information. The legs were curled up against its stomach, its arms similarly crossed over its chest. Its nose twitched, its eyes darting a little as if in REM sleep.

Dagmar pulled her hand away. Jorunn and Arne eyed her warily.

“Sorry,” Dagmar said. “It feels so clear. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Everything’s all right, though?” Jorunn asked.

“If fetuses can dream. . .that’s what it’s doing.”

Jorunn’s expression softened. She ran a gentle hand over the top part of her belly.

“I’ll give it another go?” Dagmar asked.

With Jorunn’s nod, Dagmar put her hand back. It didn’t take her aback so much this time now she knew what to expect, but she could feel Jorunn’s heart pounding in the background. Her increase in excitement seemed to affect the fetus. It shifted more, although wasn’t anymore alert than it had been before.

Dagmar watched the clock in the room for a few moments. “Heart rate’s a little over one-twenty. Maybe one-thirty.”

“Good number,” the Healer in the room commented.

Dagmar felt for the flow of blood around the fetus’ genitalia. “Did you want to know the sex?”

“You can tell?”

Dagmar nodded. 

Jorunn was clearly tempted. “Maybe if my husband was here.”

“All right.” Dagmar would have to be careful then not to refer to the fetus as a he. “I don’t know that I know enough about fetal development to say much else. Is there anything in particular I should feel for?”

“How big is the fetus?” Arne asked.

“Head’s here,” Dagmar indicated with her free hand down closer to Jorunn’s pelvis. “Baby’s back’s to me. Bum’s here.”

Jorunn giggled.

“Maybe seven or eight inches from head to bum?” Dagmar reckoned. “Seems healthy, anyway. I couldn’t say there’s anything wrong.”

“How are the lungs?” the Healer present asked. “They should be going through a period of development right now.”

“Mm. . .” Dagmar tried to tell. “Certainly not functional at the moment, but that’s to be expected? There are paths, just not very many. Rudimentary.”

“The brain?” Dagmar heard a scratching quill behind her.

“Same. The paths are just starting to look complicated compared to what I’m used to, with adults.”

“This might be a stretch, but the bones?”

“Hm. . .”

Dagmar couldn’t feel that as well as everything else, but she could tell they were harder than soft when prompted based on baby’s movements. With everyone’s questions having exhausted themselves, Dagmar removed her hand again from Jorunn. She still wasn’t used to the looks she’d get after using her ability on someone, so she fiddled with her fingers a little as Jorunn and Arne studied her. The other Healer was still writing things down.

“Well, that was certainly interesting,” Jorunn said as she readjusted her clothes again to hide her belly. “I’m sure something like that comes in handy in a hospital.”

“So far.” Dagmar smiled. “We’re still figuring it out.”

“Indeed,” Arne said. “Let’s let Linn finish up here with Jorunn.”

Dagmar nodded and extended a hand again to Jorunn. “Thanks again for the opportunity.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

Feeling pretty good about what had just happened, Dagmar followed Arne out of the exam room. She thought he would bid her goodbye in reception, but the way Arne folded his arms made Dagmar think he wanted to say something else first.

“Very enlightening,” he said. “That could certainly be an interesting use of what you can do. There’s no better way to promote healthy lives than starting as early as you possibly can. If we could find out a way to diagnose potential delays or anomalies, we could start to look into potentially treating them. If that’s not possible, we’d at least be aware of them for the parents to address later.”

“I liked doing that.” Dagmar was still riding a little high from the look on Jorunn’s face when told her unborn child was dreaming. “What’re you thinking?”

“We could potentially set up a clinic.” Arne toyed with his beard. “Give me some time to think the whole thing through. I’ll pull you aside sometime later this week, or send an owl if I miss you.”

“Sure.”

With that, Dagmar returned to the lab she’d been working in when Arne first found her. It was hard to focus on making basic potions after that. She could at least chat with Kristen about it.

“We picked our specialty at the beginning of this term,” Kristen told her. “Sounds like you might get a chance to do that sooner.”

“Maybe,” Dagmar replied. “I’ll see what Arne says when we meet back up. What’s _your_ specialty?”

Kristen planned on going into oncology. It was an interesting enough topic that the day slipped away from Dagmar at a much more suitable pace. She headed home after four not only elated about her experience with Jorunn, but satisfied she may have made a new program contact.

Dagmar snuck into the cottage after apparating home, just in case Draco was still in bed. It was unnecessary. There were potatoes on the kitchen counter by the sink. Draco leaned into view from around the wall that separated the kitchen and living room. He sat at the island.

“Hey,” he addressed her. “Good day?”

“Great,” Dagmar replied. “I’m just going to change, and then I want to tell you about it.”

“‘Kay.”

Dagmar made quick work of her uniform upstairs, trading it for a jumper and leggings. It had started raining around noon. Dagmar pointed her wand at the fireplace when she came back downstairs to light it.

Draco’s hair was still damp from a shower. Dagmar inhaled the clean smell of his neck as she draped herself around him from behind. She noticed something different about what he was drinking. “Coffee?”

“Needed something a little stronger than tea to wake me up.” Draco chuckled. “I’ve been drinking it at work, so you could say I’m starting to get used to it.”

“Watch your guts, is all.” Dagmar rubbed his stomach. “It might take you time to adjust to drinking it more.”

“Believe me, I already know.”

The two of them snorted. Dagmar kissed Draco’s neck on the tail end of a nuzzle before heading over to the ice box. Draco had read her note about putting the roast in the oven when he got up, but it would still be another hour or so before it was done. Dagmar couldn’t wait that long. She brought out an open jar of pickled herring to pick at.

“What’re you up to, then?” Dagmar asked Draco, looking at the messengers open in front of him.

“Oh—talking to Potter,” Draco answered. “And Theo. He talked to his dad.”

Dagmar’s eyebrows rose. “He did? I debated if he actually would or not.”

“Same.” Draco pulled the messengers closer to him to make room for Dagmar beside him. “He said he wasn’t sure what his dad thought.”

“What exactly did he tell him?”

“He left me out of it, so that was nice,” Draco said. “Just said he’d been told he should tell his dad to talk to Dumbledore. I didn’t keep the message, but to me the way he worded it sounded like Dumbledore told him that himself.”

Dagmar nodded as she levitated a herring fillet out of the marinade. She let it hover at the mouth of the jar to drip dry. “Did he say what Mr. Nott’s reaction was?”

“No,” Draco replied. “Just that he didn’t seem sure. I guess it would be a lot to think about, hey?”

“Ja. Voldemort would probably kill him if he realized, wouldn’t he?”

“Depends.” Draco brought the messenger they shared with Potter out from underneath the fresh one they now shared with Theo and Daphne. “Potter told me he looked in on your memory of the graveyard.”

“Oh?”

“He figures it’s pretty likely that’s how You-Know-Who got injured.” With a fond smirk, Draco elbowed Dagmar. “That’s my girl.”

Dagmar nearly choked on her herring as she snorted while chewing. She cleared her throat to avoid having to cough. “What about it, then? I’d joke and ask if maybe Potter trusts us now about being on his side, but I’ve been getting the sense lately he already did.”

“Me too,” Draco agreed. “He’s been a lot less annoying. He wanted me to ask you about You-Know-Who’s wand.”

“What about it?”

“Potter couldn’t believe how effectively you used it against its own master.”

Dagmar hummed as she focused on finding her next fillet amongst all the onions in the jar. “I never thought about it. I figured it worked because he lent it to me. Gave permission, you know?”

“Maybe,” Draco said. “Potter was curious what your own wand is.”

“How come?”

Draco shrugged. “For reasons beyond our understanding, knowing him.”

Dagmar snorted again. “Yew, dragon heartstring core. Twelve inches, if he cares about that.”

“’Kay.” Draco dipped his quill to write that.

“Potter got anything else to say?”

“He was curious if you realized your eyes glow when you’re handling lightning.”

“Mm. . .” Dagmar leaned more on the island. “I know they do when I use my ability at the hospital. I wouldn’t have known back then, so the memory might be a little tainted with hindsight.”

Draco dipped his quill. “I’ll point that out to him.”

“I wouldn’t say they _glow._ . .they’re more like Heimr’s in the dark, just blue instead,” Dagmar mused.

“Potter said he got a bit of a laugh out of watching Voldemort realize he’d cocked up,” Draco said.

“Could be something else I just like to remember about it,” Dagmar shrugged, although chuckled anyway. “I didn’t really see his face when it was actually happening.”

“He asked if we were concerned at all about retribution.”

The humour bled out of Draco as both of them turned more serious. Dagmar chewed thoughtfully on her fillet.

“Not really,” she said. “Our parents are too important to Voldemort for him to ever dare touch us. Even if he didn’t care about that and came after us anyway. . .he’s injured. He’s lost some big name Death Eaters. If I hurt him that bad with his own wand, think what I’d do to him if I used my own. I’ve had more practice with my ability since we last met. Maybe it’s Potter that has to do him in, but Voldemort would learn the hard way if he thinks I wouldn’t let him suffer in the meantime.”

“Yeah.” Draco kept writing. “I joked with Potter when he came up last weekend that all he had to do was stand behind us and he’d be fine. Maybe it wasn’t much of a joke after all.”

Dagmar floated her next fillet over toward Draco, trying to keep it out of his line of sight. “You don’t think we’d be involved in that, do you?”

“Doubt it.” Draco shrugged. “Potter’s an Auror now. Considering that Norheim is the reigning champ of hide-and-seek, Potter might cross paths with You-Know-Who first. If You-Know-Who’s weak, it should be a simple shot.”

“Depends how well Potter copes with the idea of taking a life,” Dagmar said. “It’s not easy, even if it’s for the best. I didn’t even use the Killing Curse on a human being and it cocked me up for a long time. Took over a year before I felt comfortable telling even _you_.”

“You didn’t mention having much trouble telling Potter the other night.”

Dagmar shook her head. “I don’t know, when it comes to Voldemort, Potter’s easy enough to talk to. You felt the same, didn’t you? If anyone’s going to get it, you feel like he would. I did, anyway.”

“Yeah.”

Draco jumped away slightly, brow furrowed, as the fillet Dagmar levitated over touched the corner of his mouth. Dagmar laughed at the look her gave her, although he ultimately opened his mouth enough for Dagmar to guide it in.

Draco chewed it. “So tell me about your day, then.”


	22. Shots in the Dark

Laying on Bella’s bed while she packed to leave the island was a familiar mix of relief and glumness for Narcissa. Bella wasn’t very good company, but she was company nonetheless. Ever since she and the Dark Lord had returned, Wesley kept his distance. He hadn’t been around at all hardly the last few weeks, only coming up to make supply runs. Theodore and Daphne had made it home. Narcissa certainly couldn’t hold it against Wesley that he prioritize seeing his son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law. She would be doing the exact same thing if she could.

“Any idea how long you’ll be?” Narcissa hesitantly asked Bella.

Bella shrugged. “Same as last time, maybe.”

Narcissa wished she’d kept track of how long that had been. Not two months, she thought. “I hope Wesley’s back soon. It’s going to be weird to have an empty house again. Even when you and the Dark Lord are busy and it’s all quiet, it’s nice to know someone’s here at all. I won’t have that anymore.”

“You’ll live,” Bella said. “I think we’re going to try to be back before it’s dark, but no guarantees. _I_ wouldn’t spend the polar night here if the choice was up to me.”

“So you’d leave me to it alone?”

Bella giggled. “You won’t be alone. There’s always Wesley. Besides, you get on all right with those things out on the island, don’t you?”

“They don’t come around when anybody else is with me.”

“Why’re you complaining, then?” Bella asked. “That just means you have someone when Wesley’s on a run.”

“They’re not much for conversation,” Narcissa replied. “The woman puts pictures in my mind, kind of like a reverse Legilimency. I haven’t had any kind of meaningful interaction with the man in the pond.”

“That’s for the best,” Bella said. “You would be best to stay away from them, not that you’ll listen to me. The first place I’ll look for your body if I come back and you’re not in the house is in that pool.”

While Narcissa idly wrapped some hair around her finger, her sleeve came down far enough for the bottom part of her Dark Mark to be exposed. It had faded away to something resembling a white scar, only visible if Narcissa looked directly at it.

“Hildegard used to live here, didn’t she?” Narcissa asked.

“What makes you say that?” Bella’s tone shortened with irritation.

“That woman showed me,” Narcissa said. “She put a picture in my mind of Hildegard sitting beside that pool. She had a bunch of things drawn on her skin.”

Bella grunted.

“So did Hildegard live here then, or no?”

“You won’t make for much of a Death Eater if you can’t reach as simple of a conclusion as that.”

Narcissa ignored that Bella couldn’t just give her a simple yes. She took it for what it was and folded her arms behind her head to get more comfortable. If Hildegard once called this island home, Narcissa wondered if the bed she’d claimed was once Dagmar’s. Could it really have been so few years ago that Hildegard lived here? Even with months of ample time to try and digest it, Narcissa still couldn’t see Hildegard as anything other than the modern, civilized woman she’d befriended nearly a decade ago.

She couldn’t see Erik here either, but he had to be if Hildegard and Dagmar were. Narcissa most likely lounged on the bed Erik and Hildegard once shared.

Bella closed up her bag and threw it over her shoulder. She passed the bed by with no acknowledgement of Narcissa. Narcissa followed anyway. The Dark Lord waited for Bella down in the foyer. His hood was drawn and his breath came heavy, as if he’d run the perimeter of the island. Narcissa bit her tongue against asking if there was anything she ought to do while they were gone. Bella had made it clear that once the Dark Lord had use for her, he would say so.

“See you when you get back,” Narcissa said instead.

Without saying a word, the Dark Lord turned for the door. Bella got it for him. With that, they were gone into the night. Their footsteps faded down the front steps. The ground beyond muted them. Narcissa sighed. She was on her own again.

The sun went down before eight-thirty now. How quickly the days shortened nearly panicked Narcissa for when polar night would come. Summer was quickly disappearing. It had already felt to Narcissa like it slipped away, for she’d overheard Bella mention to Wesley that she and the Dark Lord planned to depart on the last day of August.

Wesley hadn’t said when he was coming back. Narcissa grew more antsy with every sunset, since she always woke up with hope the next day that he’d arrived in the night. It was pitch black outside about a week after Bella and the Dark Lord had left when Narcissa stirred because of a small noise elsewhere in the house.

Narcissa poked her head out onto the landing. Her heart jumped when she saw that Wesley’s bedroom door had appeared. She headed down to the kitchen, not being careful of her step to avoid accidentally sneaking up on Wesley. Wesley was looking when Narcissa rounded the corner.

“Hey,” Narcissa greeted him. “You made it.”

Wesley chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not.” Narcissa rested her head against the arch frame. “Just glad to see you.”

He kept on putting food in the ice box. It made Narcissa happy to see so much. Wesley didn’t seem to plan on going anywhere for at least a week.

“It’s been quiet here, has it?” Wesley asked.

“Yeah, but I’d be glad to see you anyway.”

Without Bella here as audience, Narcissa found it difficult not to show some kind of affection toward Wesley. He’d called off anything going on between them before it really even had a chance to start. Regardless, Wesley’s sense of honour toward Lucius wasn’t as strong as Wesley seemed to hope, and was far weaker than Narcissa expected. She’d caught Wesley looking at her far too frequently.

Wesley cleared his throat. “I’m probably heading straight to bed.”

“Did you want me to see that everything’s set up?”

“I can manage.”

Despite the soft rejection, Narcissa suppressed a smirk as Wesley determinedly avoided her gaze. It was good enough to her ego that she could tell he was highly tempted. A taste of flesh after so long without contact clearly affected him just as much as her.

“All right,” she said. “I’m going back to bed, then. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Narcissa headed back upstairs. She laid awake to listen to Wesley come up behind her. Her heart picked up in anticipation when Wesley hesitated on the landing between their doors. Disappointment followed as Wesley carried on into his room and closed the door behind him.

It was still closed in the morning when Narcissa rose. She dressed warm for the cool, late summer day and headed out for her morning walk around the island. As she passed through the forest, branches cracked off to the side. Narcissa caught glimpses of a white dress through breaks in the trees.

The woman had kept a low profile while Bella and the Dark Lord were here. She didn’t seem to much like either of them. Even in the last week, Narcissa still noticed some kind of hesitance. In attempt to weed that out of the woman, Narcissa took a seat on a large tree branch at the edge of the forest. She kept her gaze on the sea as footsteps approached from behind. The woman sat down. The smell of wood and moss teased Narcissa’s nose.

This close to her, Narcissa wondered what else she might possibly learn from the woman about Hildegard. She looked at the woman, who already looked at her. Narcissa drew up a mental image of Hildegard from last summer, the clearest she could from when Narcissa sat with Hildegard in the shade on Malfoy Manor’s back terrace. As if to combat that, other images cut through like the rough transition of a dream.

Hildegard sat on the front steps of the house in a dress similar to the one the woman wore. Narcissa could see more clearly the markings on Hildegard. They were a golden colour, which almost blended in with her skin on such a bright day. They were runes, although none that Narcissa had ever seen before.

Narcissa’s vision swivelled unexpectedly to the left. Dagmar was there, toddling along on uncertain feet. Her short, curly blonde hair turned nearly white in the sunlight. As Dagmar made her way over to Hildegard, both of them beaming, Hildegard held her arms open to Dagmar. Dagmar nearly fell into them. Hildegard held her tight in a hug as she nuzzled the top of Dagmar’s head.

Their joy was a complete contrast to when Narcissa’s vision changed. Hildegard stood on the beach with Dagmar in her arms. Dagmar was bigger now, her hair just a little past her shoulders. Both were crying, although Hildegard was much more stoic than Dagmar. Dagmar’s face was screwed up like any little kid throwing a tantrum, her arms extended toward where Narcissa stood. She fought Hildegard until she exhausted herself. Hildegard ran her fingers through Dagmar’s hair, her lips pushed out as she comforted her with a shush. While Hildegard rocked her, her shiny gaze came to Narcissa. After a long look, Hildegard turned her back. As she walked toward the water, she faded.

The woman reappeared in front of Narcissa. Tears stained her cheeks. There was a glint of hope there too. If this woman had known Hildegard before, they might have been friends. In return for what the woman shared with Narcissa, Narcissa drummed up some of the nicer memories she had of Hildegard—just moments when she was happy. Dagmar snuck in there as well.

The woman’s breath came in gasps. She scratched her cheek on some of the bark embedded in her hand as she cleaned herself up.

Narcissa’s heart weighed for her. Erik’s absence confused Narcissa, though. She thought of him when the woman’s gaze met hers again. Nothing happened. The woman just furrowed her brow.

She’d never met him. That was interesting. Erik perhaps hadn’t been here, but Hildegard visited the mainland. She had to get pregnant somehow. It was possible she had wanted a child more than a partner, and raising one alone here hadn’t been a concern to her.

_“. . .liked the summer days, but winter, winter was rough. . .”_

Erik’s voice floated through Narcissa’s memory. He and Hildegard didn’t talk all that much about Norway, but it came up once in a while at dinner parties. Narcissa had also been half-gassed up on one such occasion when Erik talked up the perks and drawbacks of living somewhere as far north as Tromsø.

Was that where Narcissa was, then? She already knew she was in northern Norway. It wasn’t much a stretch to put a name to the nearby municipality.

Narcissa’s curiosity grew. She thought next of Bella when looking at the woman. In a new vision, Narcissa was standing at the edge of the forest looking at the house. Bella stood in front of it with the Dark Lord. Her face was still gaunt in the way it’d been when she first escaped Azkaban. Bella looked around in interest. As she listened to the Dark Lord talk, she grew increasingly serious.

It was only the two of them. Why hadn’t Hildegard been the one to show Bella around? That meant she must have shown the Dark Lord first. Narcissa thought of him next.

She was back in the woods, watching one of the paths from behind a tree. A cloaked figure walked along. His hair was dark, his face handsome. Narcissa had never known what the Dark Lord looked like before he returned from near-death bearing the appearance of the creature that had helped make it possible. She didn’t even really think about it. The Dark Lord always felt like more than a man, in concept.

The woman crept closer in the memory to get a better look. She must have made too much noise, because the Dark Lord stopped. He scanned the woods, gaze stopping on the woman’s. His eyes were still a reddish tinge—like copper, almost. As the woman stared at him, an image of Dagmar—or a young Hildegard—appeared. They shared a mutual acquaintance.

Narcissa came out of the vision with a furrowed brow. They had been acquainted before Halloween of 1981. What had brought the Dark Lord here? Why had Hildegard invited him? Did she even know who he was, or what he had done?

That certainly changed the meaning of Hildegard and Erik joining the Death Eaters a few years back, although explained how they had immediately found themselves in a ranking close to Lucius. Before Narcissa could think of anything else she might learn from the woman, the woman slipped off the root and headed back into the woods.

Narcissa jumped a little when she looked around. Wesley was nearby. “Bloody hell, Wes.”

“I tried not to sneak up,” he said. “Kind of hard to make a sound when you’re walking through sand. You looked preoccupied, anyway. What was she doing to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You looked like you were in a trance.”

Narcissa just shrugged, unsure how to really explain. “She communicates with Legilimency. . .sort of.”

Wesley gazed into the woods, searching. “What kind of stuff would _she_ have to say?”

“Not a whole lot.” Narcissa folded her hands on her lap. “Were you hungry or anything?”

“Nah—well, little peckish, I guess.” Wesley slipped his hands into the pockets of his cloak. “Was just wondering where you were.”

“Keeping an eye on me, are you?”

Wesley shifted a bit, swallowing when Narcissa followed her question up with a smile.

“Needed to talk to you, actually,” Wesley said. “Now a good time?”

“I don’t know.” Narcissa gestured at the sea, where lazy waves ran up against the weird, rocky peninsula. “I’m pretty busy, as you can see.”

Wesley chuckled.

“Take a seat.” Narcissa pat where the woman had been previously sitting. “What’re we talking about?”

“I have something for you,” Wesley told her. “Theo and Daphne left with Henry and Clare a couple days ago for Australia. Before they left, Daphne showed me something. Maybe not my best moment, but I nicked it off her. I thought you might appreciate it.”

Wesley reached into his cloak. Narcissa straightened her spine and tilted her chin upward in order to better see what it might be. It was a glossy, thicker kind of parchment—a photograph. An invisible hand gripped Narcissa by the throat as she looked at it. She took it from Wesley with shaking hands.

It was of Draco and Dagmar. They wore their black Hogwarts robes, and Narcissa recognized the grounds behind them. They had their arms around each other and carefree, happy smiles. Each of them had gold and silver ropes draped around their shoulders—their distinction honours. They blurred as Narcissa’s eyes grew heavy. Although she tried to stifle it with Wesley right there, Narcissa still inhaled in gasps. She held the picture against her chest.

“Thank you,” she finally managed. Narcissa had to keep sniffing to make sure nothing escaped her nose. “It’s lovely. I can keep it?”

“It’s yours.” Wesley nodded. “Daphne won’t miss it. They’re down under until Christmas. I think if she even realizes it’s missing, she’ll just think it’s somewhere between home and Adelaide.”

Narcissa put an arm around Wesley and squeezed in a makeshift sideways hug. Although he hesitated, he returned it.

“I was going to bring it sooner, but I wasn’t sure what Bella would think,” Wesley said. “It might make you _too_ happy, in her opinion.”

With an airy laugh, Narcissa scooted closer to Wesley on the root so that their arms touched. “Not a bad call, honestly. Do you know if Draco got my letter?”

“The owl I used made it back, so I’d assume so.”

“Okay.” Narcissa tried not to agonize too much over the fact she couldn’t hear back from him. Once Bella made up her mind, there was no reasoning with her. “Thanks again for doing that. It really meant a lot.”

“Anytime.”

Wesley’s smile was soft, although it faltered when Narcissa met his gaze. His hair brushed against his forehead in the breeze, wavering more as he looked out at the sea instead. There was a lengthiness to his face that made him look more tired than usual on his first day back to the island. Narcissa studied him, uncaring if she came off as rude by it. He seemed to be debating something.

“What is it?” Narcissa asked.

While Wesley scratched at his cheek, his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. “Just—I don’t know.”

“I doubt you’d look so torn if that was true.”

“Just thinking.”

“What about?”

Wesley turned his head in Narcissa’s direction, although his gaze was still downward. “Why did you take the Dark Mark?”

Narcissa held her left forearm closer to her stomach. The sleeve of her cloak covered it, but she hadn’t told Wesley. Bella or the Dark Lord must have. Narcissa didn’t want to go into a big lie about it. It didn’t feel right, and she wasn’t even sure he would believe her if she tried.

“Why does anyone?” Narcissa asked.

“Because they’re scared, usually.”

Uncomfortable, Narcissa shrugged. She liked to think Wesley wouldn’t rat her out, but who really knew _who_ they could trust within the Death Eaters?

“I didn’t have much choice,” Narcissa said when Wesley kept waiting for an answer. “I’m tired of sitting around, is the thing. Tired of being a burden. I thought maybe if I was in service, I’d have a chance at getting off the island eventually.”

Wesley nodded slowly. He didn’t seem satisfied, even if Narcissa spoke the objective truth.

“Why?” she asked.

“I think Bella was right about the night you left Lucius,” Wesley said. “Maybe it was just a coincidence you picked the night he got arrested, but I doubt it was just a bad judgement call you were heading for your sister’s. You weren’t just leaving Lucius. You were leaving this lifestyle.”

Narcissa’s discomfort grew. She turned her face away. “The Dark Lord believes me, even if you don’t. He wouldn’t have given me his mark if he didn’t.”

“He isn’t all-knowing. It’s possible to lie to him if you love someone more than you fear him, like your children. I have been too.”

Despite having been the one to bring the topic up in the first place, Wesley looked incredibly nervous when Narcissa studied him for genuineness.

He took a deep breath. “Theo told me I ought to talk to Dumbledore.”

“Did you?”

Wesley looked around to make sure they were still alone, despite that Bella and the Dark Lord were probably at least a thousand miles away. “No.”

“ _Will_ you?”

“I don’t know.” Wesley pulled in his bottom lip again and leaned closer. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t. I’m just concerned. While Bella and the Dark Lord are gone, I’m the only person that can make sure you’re all right. I’m the only one who knows where you are. I also don’t know if I should tell Dumbledore that you’re here. Not that I don’t think he can keep a secret, but it might somehow get back to Draco.”

Narcissa’s heart didn’t know what direction to go with his mention. “Why would it get back to him? Is he with Dumbledore?”

“I think so,” Wesley said. “I didn’t tell you this because I wasn’t sure if I should or not, but I saw Andromeda and her husband at Hogwarts for the kids’ graduation. Draco had invited them, along with his cousin. I don’t see how they could’ve gotten into contact without Dumbledore as some sort of middle man.”

Narcissa’s throat tightened again. She didn’t have any tears left in her after earlier. “Oh, Andie. I wonder what would’ve happened if Bella hadn’t grabbed me first.”

She brought the picture of Draco and Dagmar out again to look at.

“At least he has somebody to look out for him until I get back,” Narcissa said. “Do you know where Draco is, then?”

Wesley shook his head. “Malfoy Manor is under a Fidelius Charm, so that’s my best guess. Dumbledore probably cast it himself.”

“He’s safe, then.”

Narcissa ran her thumb over Draco in the picture. He’d changed so much in the last year. She’d seen signs of it over the previous summer, but never had the chance to find out what kind of man her son was growing into.

“Thank you for telling me.” Narcissa looked at Wesley again. “So what can we do? What about Dumbledore?”

“I’ve thought about it, and I don’t know that I should tell him anything about the Dark Lord’s business. I don’t know enough about it, which makes for unpredictable situations. Dumbledore won’t be able to do anything for you anyway because of the Fidelius Charm—well, not unless Bella dies and I become a Secret Keeper. . .” Wesley gave Narcissa an uncomfortable look. “I think you’ll agree with me it’s crucial Draco not find out you’re being held somewhere. It’s better he believes you’re on the run.”

Narcissa nodded. “I don’t want him worried when there’s nothing he can do.”

“And you realize how important it is this all stays between us, right?” Wesley was nervous again. “I don’t think Bella would hold back just because you’re her sister. We’d be begging for death by the end.”

Nausea crept up on Narcissa. In a way she wished Wesley never told her any of this, but Bella and the Dark Lord were gone more than they were here. They were distracted. Narcissa was just in their peripheral vision, left to Wesley to ensure she was fed and watered.

“I do.” Narcissa slipped a hand into Wesley’s and squeezed. “As far as they’re concerned, this conversation never happened.”

Wesley’s shoulders relaxed with the contact. He seemed to feel better on this side of everything, but he was still quiet. Shock, maybe. Wesley had nobody except maybe Theodore he could ever talk to about this. To find someone he could be completely truthful with was always a momentous occasion.

They walked together back up to the house. Narcissa headed into the kitchen. She was getting properly hungry now. The scent of Wesley’s body wash combatted the smell of bacon when he came back downstairs from washing up. That on top of getting so much off his chest seemed to make him look less tired. There was still something else, far as Narcissa could reckon.

“I’ll clean up,” he volunteered when they were done eating.

“Okay.”

Narcissa decided to stick close. Once one thing unspoken between them came out, she couldn’t ignore what Wesley chose to keep to himself. Narcissa pretended to busy herself organizing in the ice box as Wesley orchestrated the dishes through the sink with his wand. Narcissa had become so used to living without hers that she almost forgot she was a witch.

She leaned against her hip on the counter when Wesley was done. She didn’t know what to say, just smiled when he looked at her.

“Something on your mind?” Wesley asked.

Narcissa shrugged, then decided to be honest since Wesley had been with her. “You.”

Wesley blinked.

“Are we never going to talk about what happened?” Narcissa asked. “Just pretend it didn’t? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your eye on me.”

“Well. . .” Wesley rubbed his neck.

“Are you still hung up on Lucius?” Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be. Why would you honour that man? I’ll admit I have a lot of complicated feelings about him, but you shouldn’t. He let me down when I needed him most. Don’t spare Lucius one thought. Maybe he was your friend, but he’s _nobody’s_ friend, now.”

“It’s not really that. Not _just_ that,” Wesley corrected himself. “It’s not just about shagging, either. You should know there are feelings.”

“Clearly.” Narcissa gestured at him.

“Er. . .you?” Wesley asked.

“I wouldn’t still be on about this if there wasn’t.” Narcissa moved closer, which thankfully didn’t completely spook Wesley. “If I’m perfectly honest, I could probably separate the two things if need be. I do like you, though. I miss having a man in my life. I’d like to find out how we’d work if you weren’t hiding from me all the time.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“Figure of speech. You’re keeping yourself to yourself.” Narcissa slipped her hand back into Wesley’s, pleased at the lack of resistance. “Doesn’t it get tiresome?”

Wesley’s expression softened. “Yes.”

“So then stop.”

He still hesitated. Rather than let herself grow frustrated with Wesley, Narcissa stepped up close enough for their robes to brush against each other. If he still felt like he needed to fight with himself, then she didn’t mind building that bridge alone so long as he helped her keep it up afterward. His head grew heavy in Narcissa’s hand when she cupped his cheek, eyes closing briefly with the contact.

A long exhale through Wesley’s nose brushed down Narcissa’s jaw when she took his lips with hers. She didn’t give him a chance to second-guess, wrapping her arms around his neck and playing with his hair. Wesley seemed incapable of fighting it, anyway. Once he mirrored Narcissa’s grip around her waist, holding her tight and close, his resolve deteriorated. He still wouldn’t take lead. That seemed to shift when Narcissa put her back to the counter and nibbled his bottom lip. Theirs gaze met for a split second, and then his mouth was on her neck. Wesley had Narcissa so tightly pinned that she would be shocked he didn’t feel the shiver down her spine right through her.

She could feel _him_ , that was certain. For all the progress he’d made, Wesley faltered a little when Narcissa touched him through his robes. He came back up to eye-level with her, eyes glazed.

Narcissa swallowed. “Your room, then?”


	23. Secrets Well Kept

With September’s arrival, London fell underneath a blanket of fog. Even the Ministry’s enchanted windows showed it.

Harry thought about Hogwarts a lot. The entirety of September the first, he’d been distracted by the thought of the train winding its way north through the countryside. While Harry ate dinner with Pansy that evening, the newest slew of first-years were experiencing true wonder as they sat at their house tables. Pansy wondered about all the little Muggle-borns she’d sized robes for over the summer months. Some were very nervous to go. On top of entering a whole new world, they would be leaving their families.

“I kind of wish I didn’t grow up knowing about the wizarding world,” Pansy had said with a wistful look. “I’d love to know what it was like to learn about it all at once. You get so used to it, you know?”

She found Harry’s story funny then about the absurd amount of letters he’d received before being tracked by Hagrid all the way out to some tiny island. Pansy’s gaze was so soft with admiration as Harry recounted his first trip to Diagon Alley that he lost his train of thought a few times.

Everyone at Hogwarts was in their second week of term now. Whenever Harry grew bored at work, he looked at the clock and wondered what class he’d be in, were he there. What was the new Defence professor like? Who was the new eleven-year-old Gryffindor boy sleeping in Harry’s old bed? Pansy had told Harry that fourteen of the sixty ties she sent to Hogwarts were scarlet and gold. She didn’t know the gender distribution, though.

While Harry looked at the clock on Tuesday, thinking about last year’s Potions classes during this time slot, he registered someone approaching his cubicle out the corner of his eye. It was another Auror and a woman. The woman looked uncertain, but the Auror met Harry’s gaze.

“Potter,” he said. “You have a visitor.”

The woman’s hair was windswept, as if she hadn’t bothered to brush it before throwing it back into a ponytail. Her brown eyes—familiar to Harry—had a kindness behind the concern that wrinkled her brow. Harry glanced at the woman’s visitor tag, and his stomach leapt with excitement to read _Marit Olsen_. Underneath, it said in small, cramped writing: _received owl from Harry Potter in Auror office_

“Hi,” Harry greeted her, surprised. He hadn’t expected her to come all the way from Norway if she even so much as responded to his owl. “Er, good to meet you.”

“And you.” She stuck out a hand when Harry stood. “Just call me Marit.”

“Harry.” Harry remembered now Malfoy telling him it was more customary to call people by their first names in Norway. To Harry it felt a little too personal, but it was more important to him that Marit feel comfortable. The real struggle was when he gestured at Parasca. “And this is my mentor, er—Ekaterina.”

“Call me Kat,” Parasca told Marit as they shook hands next.

With Marit there, Harry become all the more aware of the size of his and Parasca’s cubicle. “Should we go to an interview room? Our cubicle might be too small for three.”

“Sure.” Parasca nodded. “We’ll head that way if you want to let Kingsley know what’s going on.”

Harry went to Kingsley’s office. He hated to interrupt any kind of meeting, but an open door meant it was allowable. Rather than knock, Harry just leaned against the frame until Kingsley could spare him a second.

“Yes?” Kingsley finally asked.

“Norheim’s sister is here,” Harry told him. “We’ll be in an interview room.”

Kingsley’s eyebrows popped up. “I’ll be along when I have a chance.”

“Okay.”

Harry pushed off the door with that. He headed back across the floor to where Marit lingered alone. She fidgeted as she watched the office. Her smile was tight when Harry reached her.

“Did you want something to drink?” Harry asked.

“Kat already offered,” Marit replied. “She’s getting me a coffee.”

“Great. Er, let’s get settled then, shall we?”

Harry led her into an empty interview room. Parasca wasn’t too far behind. Marit relaxed a little when it was just the three of them. With the door closed, a Silencing Charm kicked into effect. The rest of the Auror office might as well be playing on muted television screens where the windows were. Marit took a sip from her coffee as she sat down, but seemed more eager toward Harry and Parasca as they settled in across from her. Harry’s hand quivered a little bit with anticipation as he labelled the page in his notebook: _Interview w. Marit Olsen (Norheim) — Sept 7/98 11:30am_

“This is about Magnus, isn’t it?” Marit asked.

Harry hadn’t said so explicitly in the letter he sent, since he didn’t want that name to be spotted if the owl got intercepted. “How do you gather that?”

“Well, he’s been gone for quite a while.” Marit folded her hands in her lap. “I hope you didn’t wait too long for me. The owl that brought your note looked tired, as if it’d been flying around for a while. I was looking for Magnus, actually. You found him? Is he all right?”

“Er. . .we’re currently trying to locate him,” Harry said. “His name came up while we were looking into something else. He might have some information that we would find valuable. By all appearances, he dropped off the face of the planet back in the early eighties.”

“Ja,” Marit glumly replied. “I’d hoped he’d be here, and that’s why you wrote. I wasn’t sure if he’d be dead or alive, was all.”

Harry glanced at Parasca, who was giving him the same look. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? When did Magnus go missing?”

Marit rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, it’s honestly a little strange.”

“Try us,” Harry said. “We’re prepared for strange.”

Marit studied him, then pulled her chair closer to the table. “Well, all right. I feel like I could’ve done more, but I don’t know what. The entire thing came out of left field. By the time Magnus let me know he was leaving, it was too late.”

Harry nodded, quill still at the ready.

“It all happened a little over a year after Voldemort disappeared,” Marit recalled with a new wrinkle in her brow. “Magnus sent me a letter saying he was going off traveling. I figured he was going with the woman he was seeing. He’d told me about her when I saw him at Christmas. I didn’t think he’d disappear, though.”

Harry parsed what she said, trying to form a timeline. “Let’s start at that Christmas. What year was that, then?”

“1982,” she said after a moment. “He told me he’d met a woman the winter before, and he told me quite a wild story.”

Harry dashed down _early 82_ in his notebook. “What kind of story?”

“There’s a legend in Trondheim,” Marit continued. “This is probably a long shot, but have you ever heard of Fantomøy?”

“Er. . .” Harry shook his head. So did Parasca.

“It means Phantom Island in English.” Marit moved her hands up onto the table, her fingers playing with each other. “If you go out through the fjords by Trondheim, sometimes you come across this island. It’s shrouded by fog. If you get far enough in, the island looks terrifying. Anyone that goes there doesn’t come back.

“Magnus went on a bet from his mates.” Marit rolled her eyes. “They found it, and of course all three were drunk. Magnus wasn’t as far gone, and I’d say he _still_ had the least sense of them all. They pulled up on shore, and he got off the boat. He said he saw a woman in the forest—well, not a woman. A huldra, he later realized.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”

“A magical creature,” Marit answered. “She looks like a woman from the front, but she has tree bark up her back. If you glimpse her tail, she magically camouflages against the trees. They lure people off paths, which you’d think Magnus would know. He said it felt like a spell of some kind, like he was drunk. Almost like Amortencia but without the love part, maybe.”

“So he followed her?”

Marit nodded. “Deeper into the forest. His mates said they were calling for him, but Magnus said he never heard them. Somewhere in there, Magnus heard music. It pulled him along too. He ended up at a pond. There was another creature in the water. Before Magnus realized, it had pulled him underneath.”

“What was it? Something like the huldra?”

“A nøkken.” Marit’s shoulders tensed briefly as a chill passed through her. “Like a huldra, but in the water.”

“He didn’t drown, obviously.”

Marit shook her head. “He was just about to, but then someone pulled him out. He felt all the water pulled out of his lungs as he was laying beside the pond. He slowly came back to full consciousness and he said it was this woman. He said. . .well. All the creepiness about the island vanished. It turned normal—kind of. . .he said it was so green for February. Warm. You know how there are spots of dust in a sunbeam? He said the whole air was like that with flakes of gold.”

“What was the woman like?” Harry asked, quill moving fast.

“Magnus said she had long blonde hair, blue eyes,” Marit recalled. “She wore a white dress. She had runes drawn all over her.”

Harry’s quill stopped. “Runes?”

“Not normal Norse runes. Magnus would’ve recognized them. He said he didn’t know what they were.” Marit bunched her lips to one side. “She spoke Old Norse to him. Magnus had learned it at Kapsferd as an elective. He said that when she spoke to the huldra and nøkken, it was strange. Clicks, whistles, hisses.”

“Almost like Parseltongue?”

“Maybe.” Marit shrugged. “I don’t know. Magnus said her name was Hildegard.”

It took real work on Harry’s part to suppress his excitement. “What happened after that?”

“She took him to a house,” Marit said. “Magnus was hypothermic from the water. Hildegard took care of him for a while, and then helped him back to the mainland. He said she apparated him or something. He just showed up on the wharf.”

“Hm.”

“Magnus kept going back to visit Hildegard. She was so different, I think he couldn’t quite help but fall in love with her. That age too, you know?” Marit managed a tight smile. “He was in his early-twenties. That young, you turn your head after someone and fall in love. He liked a sense of responsibility to her as well, and filling in a role she didn’t have on Fantomøy. She had two children.”

Harry’s mind and hand stopped. He looked up from his notebook. “Two?”

Marit nodded. “A boy named Bjorn and a girl named Dagmar.”

Harry stared at her. So far everything was lining up. Well—not that Hildegard and Norheim knew each other only after Voldemort disappeared, but that Marit could name both Hildegard and Ramstad was too much to be coincidence.

“Did you ever meet Hildegard?” Harry asked.

Marit shook her head. “When I talked to Magnus that Christmas, he said he’d been working on trying to get Hildegard to come to the mainland. She wouldn’t leave the island. She was scared. She said she’d had bad experiences with—I guess you could call us civilized magical folk.”

Harry thought about Voldemort.

“I didn’t see Magnus again after that.” Marit’s expression slumped. “He sent me a letter saying that him and Hildegard decided to travel. He never contacted me again. I’ve thought about him a lot over the years, wondered how he was doing, and then back in February, Professor Westergaard—or, she’s Headmistress now—wrote me to ask about him. It got me thinking that maybe there was something wrong. I’ve been out on the fjords ever since, looking for Fantomøy.”

“You never knew where the island is?” Harry asked.

Marit shook her head. “Haven’t found it yet, either.”

“Hm.” Harry pressed his lips together. “So you never heard from Magnus at all since getting that letter from him?”

“Nei.” Marit blinked as though she remembered something. “I did have someone come by the houseboat quite a few years ago looking for him, though. Said he was an old friend from Kapsferd and just wanted to see Magnus since he was in town.”

“Get a name?”

“Erik something. Seemed like a nice fellow.”

Unable to help himself again, Harry met Parasca’s eye.

Marit caught their exchange this time. “What?”

“Does the name Ramstad ring a bell?” Harry asked.

“Ja.” Her eyes widened with excitement. “That was the name. Erik Ramstad. He told me to send him an owl to let him know if I ever heard from Magnus.”

Silence fell on the room. Maybe Magnus hadn’t helped develop whatever Voldemort and Hildegard were working on, but Magnus was still a fit to have stolen it. In a way, Harry preferred what Marit had to say. If Norheim’s only involvement went as far as that, he was innocent in the entire situation.

That made it harder to look at Marit’s hopeful face. She really had no idea, and now Harry had to be the one that broke everything to her.

“You said you’ve been looking for Magnus since February,” Harry said after looking over his notes. “Have you been ashore at all? Followed the news?”

Marit shook her head. “I haven’t. Erm. . .the wizarding community in Trondheim isn’t a very stationary one. Most of us live on the water to begin with. I don’t bother with the paper or anything.”

Harry exhaled through his nose. “I’ll be right back.”

His chair’s legs scraped against the floor as he got up. As much as Harry dreaded returning with the item he needed from his and Parasca’s cubicle, he didn’t dawdle anymore than the time it took to glance over at Kingsley’s office. The door was shut now.

Harry closed the interview room’s door again behind him. He slid Hildegard’s mugshot across the table toward Marit. Hildegard’s name wasn’t on it anywhere, but Harry was curious what Marit’s reaction might be to see it.

Marit pulled it closer to herself, her hand shaking slightly. “This is her, isn’t it?”

“Hildegard,” Harry confirmed. “Look. . .we don’t know where Magnus is. Like I said, we’re looking for him. I don’t know if it’ll make you feel better or not, but you deserve to know the truth about what happened. As far as we know, Magnus has not been seen since he last was in Trondheim. Hildegard showed up in the wizarding world back in ’83—summer or fall that year, by our reckoning. Magnus wasn’t with her. As far as we know, he’s still alive. We’re looking for him because Voldemort is too. Voldemort and Hildegard had some kind of project they were working on back before Voldemort disappeared. I don’t know if Magnus realized what it was, but he stole it. Voldemort wants it back.”

Marit covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers as she listened. She still shook, and now her eyes shone.

“Why didn’t he come home?” Marit whispered. “Why didn’t he just come home?”

“We hope to have an answer to that question sooner than later.”

“So Hildegard. . .” Marit glanced down at the mugshot again. “She’s in Azkaban?”

“Arrested in March for Death Eater activity,” Harry confirmed. “Erik, the man you met, was her husband. He also became a Death Eater when Voldemort returned. He died that same night Hildegard was arrested.”

“Herregud,” Marit weakly said. “So Erik wasn’t a friend. He was looking for Magnus to find—whatever it is.”

“Which might be the answer as to why Magnus didn’t go home once he took whatever it was,” Harry mused, although he didn’t want to be insensitive by brainstorming like that about Magnus while Marit was in the room.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Marit asked. “Probably not, but herregud. My poor brother. He’s really been missing for that long? On the run? Herregud, how scared he must have been when he heard Voldemort was back. . .”

Parasca was definitely better at the whole comforting thing than Harry was. Marit was still blotchy-faced and sniffling when Harry and Parasca walked her to the Auror office exit. She seemed a little heartened by the promise that Harry would keep in touch with her so that she could get updates. If they needed anything at all, she said, they ought to send her an owl right away.

Happy as Harry was to make some forward progress in his investigation, he didn’t like the cost of it. It left him tired and subdued. After seeing Marit out of the office, he headed for the break room to make himself some tea. Maybe that could perk him up.

Parasca stood when Harry returned to the cubicle. “Kingsley wants us to fill him in.”

Harry took a cursory glance at his notes again so that he wouldn’t forget anything in there. Kingsley listened with his fingers folded together in front of his mouth, brow furrowed as he slowly nodded.

“So, February 1982, three months after Voldemort disappeared, Magnus meets Hildegard for the first time in Trondheim,” Kingsley summarized. “We have more confirmation she was a druid living on her own. This island is a lair of sorts for her. These creatures protect it for her, but for some reason Hildegard saved Magnus’ life. They fell in love and all that, and Magnus disappears about a year later in winter of 1983. Then we have Hildegard showing up alone with Dagmar—no boy—in Tromsø, come about summer or fall. So what happened in that six months or so for both Magnus and the boy to be gone?”

A thought occurred to Harry while Kingsley talked. “We ought to ask Hildegard.”

Parasca hummed with interest.

“We didn’t know she was a druid the last time we visited her in Azkaban,” Harry said. “We didn’t even know she was a Parselmouth yet. Now we have a second child that she’s never accounted for, and we know where she used to live. There’s a lot there to possibly disarm her with.”

“Thinking we ought to go in with a strategy?” Parasca looked from Harry to Kingsley. “That’s if you’d allow us to go.”

“I have no problems with it.” Kingsley sat up straighter and opened a desk drawer. “When did you want to?”

Harry would’ve gone then—or tomorrow, since it was getting into the afternoon now—but Parasca suggested they allow themselves a full day to prepare. Kingsley would arrange the ferry for them come Thursday. Harry and Parasca spent some time developing a preliminary approach to Hildegard, after which Parasca suggested they take a break from it in order to give themselves room to see anything new. Harry took the opportunity to update his notes. He quickly saw something that caused him pause.

Thanks to Marit, Harry could put some concrete dates in his timeline of events. Since Erik Ramstad had been confirmed not to be Ramstad’s father, Harry had started suspecting that Magnus was. In reality, Ramstad had been about eighteen months old when Magnus first came into her life. That eliminated him as the possibility.

Harry scratched _most likely Dagmar’s father_ off from underneath Magnus’ name. Even more hesitantly and with a slight grimace, he wrote it again underneath Voldemort’s profile.

At the moment, there were just no other men that Hildegard had known during that time period. Now there were two children. If Voldemort was abroad during the seventies and learning about obscure branches of magic in order to further his goals, was it possible that somewhere along the way he had a secret family?

Harry still had his doubts. Not only would Voldemort have left himself vulnerable with something like that, Harry just couldn’t see him caring enough. Families were a lot of work. Even if Hildegard was self-sufficient, why would she go in on this? What did she have to gain from it? Motherhood, and nothing else? More importantly, what did she have to _give?_

The other issue was Hildegard’s age. She was a few months shy of twenty years old when she first met Magnus. She had Dagmar at eighteen. That was already so young. Would Voldemort have really taken up with someone any younger than that? What would someone that age possibly have to offer in magical knowledge that a fifty-something year old man would be interested in? And why would that translate to a relationship that progressed to the point of producing offspring?

Even if it didn’t gross Harry out, it still just didn’t make sense. Surely Hildegard had easier ways of getting pregnant than making some kind of deal with Voldemort. Look how easy it was with Magnus. He fell hard for her, by the sounds of it. Erik had too. If Hildegard had some kind of magic to her like a siren or succubus, why not just use a regular person instead? Why Voldemort?

Harry didn’t even really know how to put all those thoughts into words. He left it as that Voldemort was most likely Ramstad’s biological father because at the moment it was technically true. Still, despite all the new information Harry had, he felt like he was missing a massive part of the puzzle. Harry was at least getting closer—or so he hoped.

He sent Pansy a note around four asking if she was up for a walk with him when they both got off work. Harry figured he could benefit from some idle movement to get the cogs going. He didn’t much feel like going alone, although Harry wondered what kind of company he might be for Pansy when he was preoccupied. Before Harry could rethink the invite, Pansy already replied in the affirmative with a footnote: _going to run to the stationary store after work so if I’m not at a shop come find me there_

Harry apparated to Diagon Alley after five o’clock. Madam Malkin pointed Harry onward when he entered the shop, since Pansy had indeed already left. Harry spotted her ahead coming back from the stationary store with a bag in hand. Pansy lit up with a grin when he waved. Harry’s already-warm stomach fluttered when she pulled him into a brief, one-armed hug about his middle.

“I’ve got something for you,” Pansy said.

“Oh?”

She opened the bag she carried. “I was thinking, you know, maybe we could have a better way to keep in contact rather than using Ministry resources.”

Pansy held out a messenger to Harry, her smile impish. She looked relieved when he took it without hesitation.

“Yeah, I mean. . .” Harry smiled. “The odd owl was okay, but this will be better.”

“I thought so.” Pansy glanced at it. “Oh, I didn’t think. If you wanted to go for a walk, we could leave them at the shop for now so we don’t have to pack them.”

“Sure.”

Pansy returned Harry’s messenger to the bag. Harry took her free hand. It had been an unspoken thing between them that while being spotted together in Diagon Alley wasn’t the worst thing for what Pansy referred to as the drama mill, anything more than that would draw a certain kind of attention. Ron pointed out at Sunday dinner (practically flooring Hermione) that Pansy probably told Harry in a non-direct way that they ought to keep things as simple as possible contact-wise in public until they were more serious. Harry figured that if Pansy put herself out there enough to give him a messenger, then he ought to honour that in kind. Taking her hand was an easier way to confirm they were on the same page than having a conversation, although Harry was pretty sure that that had to be coming soon.

“Good day at work?” Harry asked.

“Little slow.” Pansy shrugged. “The foot traffic definitely drops off once term starts at Hogwarts. There are still a lot of little projects, though. I’ve mostly been doing mending jobs.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“You?” Pansy asked. “Anything going on? You looked a little preoccupied when I first saw you.”

“Er, yeah, maybe a bit of a break.” Harry debated quickly how much he could really say about it. “It’s kind of frustrating, though. You fill in some blanks, and then at the same time realize how big those blanks actually are. Then you see you didn’t hardly fill anything in at all. I’m also not sure if I’m focusing in the right area. Maybe I’m getting a little side-tracked.”

“How so? If you could say.”

Harry considered her. Pansy seemed willing, but Harry didn’t want to divulge anything too important, just in case. He trusted her, just not anyone that might potentially try to get Auror information through her if they were desperate enough.

“Maybe there’s something,” Harry said. “Hm. . .maybe bear in mind I’m trying not to ask anything too personal. It has to do with kids.”

“Okay.” Pansy ran her hand over her ear as if tucking her hair, although it was already in place. “What about them?”

“All right, so for the sake of a hypothetical, let’s say you’re an eighteen year old woman.”

Pansy laughed. “Got it. I’m there.”

Smiling, Harry bumped his shoulder into hers. “Let’s also say you live out in the middle of nowhere. You don’t have any contact with anybody—at least not people. Maybe you have a lot of pets or something, but nothing you could have meaningful conversations with. Would you be lonely enough to want kids? Bored enough, maybe?”

“Sure,” Pansy replied. “Why not? If it was me personally, I want kids anyway someday.”

Harry filed that away for himself to know for future reference. He held the door of the Leaky Cauldron open for Pansy. “Okay, so you’re all alone. You’re eighteen. You want a baby. Would you want the father around?”

“Depends. Do I like being alone?” Pansy asked. “Where are my parents, by the way?”

“Er—not sure.” Harry hadn’t thought about Hildegard’s parents, and what might have happened to them for her to be alone on an island like Fantomøy. “Just not around.”

“I feel like if I was alone and wanted company, a baby isn’t the way to go,” Pansy said. “Babies are cute and you love them and all, but they aren’t much for company. Even when they can talk and stuff, it’s a long time until they can actually have a conversation. And even when they can, what’s there to talk about, anyway?”

“Hm.”

“Maybe my parents just died recently,” Pansy mused. “Maybe it’s not about loneliness, but having some kind of family again.”

“Oh, maybe.” Harry let them out onto Charing Cross Road. They headed east toward the river rather than south with the flow of foot traffic. The nearest crosswalk was currently green. “So if you wanted a baby without the dad being around, how would you go about doing that?”

“You said I live out in the middle of nowhere?” Pansy asked, to which Harry nodded. “Well, I guess in that case I would head into the nearest town and make a slag of myself for an evening.”

Harry laughed at the casual way she said that. “What kind of man would you go for?”

“Like my type?”

“Maybe more like. . .young, old?”

“Close to my own age, probably?” Pansy said. “Is that what you mean? Maybe if I was alone and the only man I’d ever known was my father, then I’d maybe be more comfortable with someone older. Depends, do I know what a daddy complex is? Am I aware that’s a little gross?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied.

Either possibility could be true. Harry didn’t know Hildegard well enough to say what way she would go on that. His little thought experiment with Pansy helped Harry see something, though. If Hildegard wanted a child, it was more likely that she do like Pansy said and just go into Trondheim for a night of fun.

Then again. . .Hildegard and Voldemort may have already known each other for other reasons. Had Hildegard struck up a deal with him? I give you what you want, you give me what _I_ want?

Pansy bumped into Harry. “Was I helpful?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Enlightening. Thanks.”

She beamed. “Anytime.”

For the sake of the rest of their evening, Harry put Voldemort and Hildegard out of his head. He wanted to go at it fresh in the morning. Getting distracted from it by Pansy always helped reset Harry’s mind. The two of them had fun walking along the Thames, picking up some food from a Turkish Muggle street vendor along the way for dinner. Near sunset, they wound up with ice cream. Tired of walking for now, they watched the ferries and boats troll around.

“Hm,” Pansy said after a comfortable lull in their conversation. “Think we ought to make our way back to Diagon Alley? Or do you want to just come by the shop tomorrow to pick up your messenger?”

“I could do that.” Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Seems kind of a shame to call it so early, though, doesn’t it?”

It wasn’t early, though. It just felt like it since Harry was having a good time. He enjoyed the guarantee of there being someone who didn’t mind seeing him most days after work. Even if he and Pansy couldn’t see each other everyday, or just didn’t feel like it, they could still chat now that they had the messengers. Harry liked the possibility of being able to say small things too without making use of an owl. There were a lot of times he thought of something Pansy might like or would be interested in, but it got lost along the way between then and the next time they saw one another.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Pansy said with a smile. “I don’t have anything planned.”

“I’m not sure what’s on my plate,” Harry replied. “I’ll at least come by to grab my messenger, but. . .depends what all I might need to do before going to Azkaban Thursday.”

“Right.” Pansy came in for a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, even if just for a little while.”

Harry rubbed Pansy’s back, growing light again when she didn’t pull away after a quick squeeze. He rested his chin on the top of her head. The way she had her face turned to the side, she might be able to hear Harry’s pounding heart.

She only pulled away enough to look up at him. Pansy’s smile broke into a grin at the same rate as Harry’s realization of what she was after. It’d been a while now since the last time Harry felt nervous with her, but he was immediately on the precipice of breaking a sweat. Harry had been thinking about it, but had no real idea how to go for a kiss. It’d been Cho that kissed him first, after all.

Harry leaned down before he could talk himself out of it. Pansy’s expression softening with anticipation made it worthwhile to Harry to push beyond his comfort zone. Her mouth grew lax, her eyes narrowing to a crack before she disappeared behind Harry’s eyelids. He felt a bit around based on where their noses touched and was only slightly embarrassed that he caught her upper lip more than anything. His glasses bumped her cheekbone. Pansy didn’t seem to mind. Her mouth closing around Harry’s lower lip was nice. Harry resituated himself for the next one.

He felt more confident then, especially since he was already right there. Pansy would’ve definitely pushed away or given some other sign she wasn’t as into this as Harry was. Instead, her fingers dug into his back and her grip tightened. Her eyes cracked open afterwards, her warm gaze stoking similar heat in Harry’s stomach. Harry’s heart still pounded, but his nerves were gone. It was hard to feel anything negative at all as colour blossomed in Pansy’s cheeks and she breathlessly chuckled.

Good night, then?” she said.

Harry nodded. “Night.”

They snuck another quick one before Pansy removed herself from Harry. It was hard to stand so close together without being able to touch. Pansy glanced around to see if any Muggles paid them attention before disapparating with a pop. Standing there alone skimmed the top off of Harry’s stellar mood, replacing it with a quiet pining.

He apparated home as well. Harry had certainly met his goal of clearing his mind of anything to do with Voldemort, Hildegard, and his impending visit to Azkaban. All Harry could think about all night was how nice Pansy’s lips felt. If he thought hard enough about it, he could remember the sound of her breath and how it’d changed with the uptick in her heart rate. It was much nicer to kiss someone that wasn’t crying.

Harry couldn’t wait to do it again, but he found himself thinking about it the next day the same way as when he and Pansy started going on dates. A one-off was an experiment. The follow-up was what really mattered. It’d been nice enough for him to want another one, but what about her? Did she rethink it later and realize how inexperienced Harry was? Was he too reserved? Not reserved enough?

Adding to Harry’s nerves, they were alone in the back of the shop when Madam Malkin pointed Harry toward Pansy after work. His heart immediately leapt when he spotted Pansy, and didn’t seem to think much about slowing down again.

“Hey!” Pansy sounded happier than usual when Harry announced his presence. She was sitting with her back to Harry, repairing a pocket in some nice-looking robes. Pansy slowed and turned to better face the chair Harry had basically claimed as his own whenever he visited. “How’re you?”

“Glad I’m out of the office.” Harry rubbed his eyes. “Dreading tomorrow, but excited at the same time for what might come of it.”

“Are you just passing through here, or. . .?”

Harry shrugged. “I should go to bed early since we’re leaving the Ministry right at eight, but I could be too lazy to cook myself something at home if you’re not doing anything.”

Pansy chuckled. “I’ll just finish up really quickly. Give me maybe five minutes.”

Harry made himself comfortable, in that case. He felt a restlessness that he hadn’t since they first started seeing each other. It put his foot into a twitch. He got back up when Pansy folded up the robes she worked on. Pansy went over to where she kept her personal things, pulling on a jacket and fetching the bag with their messengers.

“What’re you in the mood for?” Harry asked.

The question left Pansy thoughtful. She joined Harry where he stood and looked at the door leading back to the fitting room. Madam Malkin’s singsong voice floated in from the front as she laughed with some late shoppers. Pansy slipped her fingers around Harry’s tie. He didn’t have a chance to grow fully confused before she used it to pull him down closer. Harry had to suppress a grin instead as their lips pressed. He let it come out afterward when Pansy wore one of her own.

“That, for starters.” Pansy glanced at Harry’s mouth. “So let’s just get that out of the way.”

Since they were properly alone and the door on it was open, Harry had a hard time moving away. Pansy’s grin faltered as they stayed close. Their foreheads touched, something Harry didn’t expect to be so nice. To be so close just for the sake of it was a new kind of lovely. The quiet room around them was like a buffer against the world as their noses brushed, followed by lips. Fingers in Harry’s hair felt good. Before he had a chance to run his own through Pansy’s, they broke apart again.

Harry was tucking his tie back into his vest when Madam Malkin stepped into the back. “Oh, heading out, dear?”

Pansy was much better at playing it cool than Harry. Harry just stayed quiet, hoping that his hot face wasn’t showing itself. He exhaled when they walked out of the shop. Pansy giggled as she took his hand. “You looked like a kneazle in wandlight.”

“Do you think she knew?”

“Oh, she definitely knew.”

Harry’s face flooded again. Pansy didn’t care, so Harry made himself let it go. Since he got to kiss her before they went to dinner, he didn’t have the question about their second one lingering over him. The third one would make the pattern, which Harry received when they said goodbye to each other at the apparation points. Harry tried not to care that he briefly spotted Parvati and Lavender whispering to each other nearby before he too went home, although couldn’t help but wonder what kind of rumours or whatever would start flying around Diagon Alley. Harry mentioned it in the messenger when he and Pansy tested it out, but she didn’t seem to care since it was already known they were spending time together.

In the morning, Harry debated taking his messenger with him. It would be nice to talk to Pansy while he sat on the Azkaban ferry. He decided against it, since he and Parasca would probably use the trip there to go over everything again, and then the trip back to do the same thing but hopefully with more information. Instead, Harry wrote Pansy a short note that he expected to be back before five so long as everything went all right. He might be a useless, tired puddle by then, but he’d like to see her anyway.

There were only so many ways to rehash everything Harry and Parasca went to Azkaban with. They ended up playing card games instead while their preoccupation drifted to other aspects of Aurorship Harry had yet to learn from work in the field. By the time Azkaban appeared over the horizon, Harry felt prepared and eager to go. Any nerves or hesitation he experienced fell behind him like a wave on the water.

A guard escorted them up to Hildegard’s cell. They passed Rodolphus Lestrange on the way by who, other than glancing back when he heard his name, Harry ignored. The sight of yellow teeth bared at him through the bars stuck in Harry’s mind as they carried on.

“Ramstad,” the guard addressed Hildegard. “Up and at ‘em.”

Hildegard’s eyes were bleary, but she seemed as eager as could be after being roused out of sedation. Her shoulders slumped as she studied Harry and Parasca.

In turn, Harry stared hard at Hildegard. Part of his and Parasca’s preparation for coming here was Harry getting a shaky grasp on speaking Parseltongue. He managed, but it was difficult. He hoped that speaking with another Parselmouth would temper the requirement for a snake to be present.

“Expecting someone else?” he asked in a series of hisses.

Just as hoped, it threw Hildegard off. She blinked at Harry with wide eyes. “I thought maybe Dagmar.”

Harry idly nodded. It occurred to him to maybe say something about Ramstad, but he didn’t want to sidetrack Hildegard. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

Even though Hildegard was taller than Harry, she looked so small while she sat on her bed. Half a year in Azkaban had pushed her appearance away from such an uncanny resemblance to her daughter. Her cheeks were hollow, and there were dark rings around Hildegard’s eyes. Her entire demeanour was one of exhaustion and defeat. Harry was having a hard time reconciling her to what he’d heard about her as a druid, once beautiful and capable of the kind of power Harry had witnessed Ramstad use on Voldemort.

“I joined the Auror office out of Hogwarts.” Harry leaned back against the inside of Hildegard’s bars.“I have some questions for you.”

Hildegard shrugged.

“What happened to Bjorn?” Harry asked.

If Hildegard was starting to get comfortable with the situation, that offset it. She twitched, blinking again.

“How did you hear that name?” Hildegard asked.

“What happened to him?”

Hildegard’s eyes brimmed, to which Harry fought against his own discomfort. “He died.”

“How?”

“He was killed.”

“By Voldemort?”

“No,” Hildegard answered right away.

“Who killed your son, then, Hildegard?”

Using her first name to address her put Hildegard off again. Perhaps she hadn’t heard it for as long as she’d been here, only known as Ramstad amongst the guards. Hildegard sniffled hard as she used both hands to wipe her face. Her skin was lighter for it, the grime turning streaky.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Hildegard said.

“We’re going to anyway,” Harry told her. “The time’s come to be honest. Magnus Norheim would’ve never killed a child, especially not one of yours. He loved both of them. Quit trying to hide the truth by passing on the blame to others. Norheim left your island with something of Voldemort’s, and that’s it. Maybe he abandoned the three of you when he realized what you were involved in, but he had nothing to do with whatever happened to Bjorn.”

“I didn’t say he meant to.”

Harry kept quiet as Hildegard lapsed into stifled sobs. He wasn’t sure what to think. The truth remained that there had been no boy by the time Hildegard showed up in Tromsø, otherwise Erik’s brother would’ve mentioned him. Somewhere between Christmas 1982 and the autumn of 1983, Bjorn slipped through the cracks.

“It was an accident,” Hildegard said after another heavy sniffle. “You need to understand, I’ve had to keep Bjorn quiet. Dagmar saw the whole thing. She seemed to forget as she got a little older, first about Bjorn and then Magnus. I thought she was better off. She still has nightmares about it, but I always just brushed them off like they didn’t mean anything. I _had_ to.”

A weird kind of nausea rose in Harry’s throat. “What happened? What kind of accident?”

“Bjorn was crying.” Hildegard breathed in gasps again. “He wouldn’t stop. Magnus accidentally smothered him.”

Harry looked back at Parasca through the bars. Since he and Hildegard were speaking Parseltongue, Parasca had no idea what was going on. Harry wished he wasn’t the only one hearing this.

“You made him leave, then?” Harry asked Hildegard.

“He left on his own.”

“And when did you realize he’d taken something valuable with him?”

Hildegard sniffed. “What do you mean?”

“The only reason I know about Bjorn at all is because I’m trying to find out what Voldemort is looking for,” Harry said. “Magnus stole something valuable to Voldemort, and he’s been hiding ever since. You and him built something, didn’t you? Using some kind of magic you would know as a druid.”

“A druid?”

“You’re past the point of getting to play clueless.” Harry crossed his arms. “I know about Fantomøy. I know about the other creatures that lure people into the woods and water if they happen upon the island. I know you used to have runes all over you, probably to enhance your magic instead of using a wand or something.”

With one hand over her mouth as Hildegard leaned forward on her knees, she thought hard. Every once in a while, she would either wipe an eye or sniffle again.

“What do I get if I tell you?” she asked.

The question surprised Harry a bit. He didn’t actually think he’d get far enough to strike a deal. It hadn’t been discussed between him and Parasca. Kingsley would be the ultimate one to give the nod toward it if the Minister said it was okay.

“Depends how valuable your information is,” Harry replied.

“It’s valuable.” Hildegard looked up at Harry. “I can’t tell you where it is, obviously, but I can tell you _what_ it is.”

“Try me.”

Hildegard hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “I want to know what I’d get first.”

“What would you want?”

“Out,” Hildegard said right away. “I can’t stand it here. I’m not. . .nobody’s meant to be caged. It’s killing me.”

“Funny, you weren’t so concerned with that when you cozied up to Voldemort.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Is this item what Voldemort is holding over you?” Harry asked. “Is it something you want too?”

Hildegard shook her head roughly. “I want Magnus.”

“So do we. Why didn’t you offer this trade of information when Kingsley approached you back in March?”

“You don’t want Magnus the same way I do,” Hildegard said. “You’d call him a hero or whatever for handing over what Voldemort is looking for. It wouldn’t matter to you that he killed my son. Druids. . .we don’t have any organization. There’s no Ministry, no justice system. We make our own justice.”

“So the deal was Voldemort gets back whatever he’s looking for, and then you do whatever you want with Magnus?”

Hildegard nodded. “But if I can’t have that. . .I might as well be free.”

“That wouldn’t happen until Voldemort is gone,” Harry said. “You realize that, right? Deep as you were with him, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t fall right back into that if you got out of Azkaban.”

“I guess that puts us at an impasse, then.”

Irritation turned Harry’s stomach. “What, you expect me to say ‘oh for sure, we’ll hand Magnus over to you as soon as we get all we need out of him’?”

“No.” Hildegard shrugged. “That’s why I never turned to the Ministry.”

“I’ll talk to Kingsley about potential release,” Harry said. “But you’ll never have Magnus.”

“Fine.”

Harry’s irritation worsened. He didn’t want to play power games with Hildegard. That she acted so ungrateful to be considered for something most people could never possibly dream of made Harry ready to end this interaction. He felt kind of dirty as he headed for the exit.

An idea struck him. Harry turned around at the cell door. “I suppose it’s only fair we offer Lucius Malfoy the same deal. Just a heads up on that.”

It had the effect Harry wanted. Hildegard’s expression managed to fall even further, and her eyes widened. The guard locked her cell back up, and Harry and Parasca headed back the way they came.

“Potter!”

Harry and Parasca hadn’t made it to the stairs. The two of them exchanged raised eyebrows before turning back. Hildegard stood at the bars, hands gripping a couple. Her forehead rested between them.

“Okay,” she said, speaking Parseltongue again. “I’ll tell you.”

Harry folded his arms again to hide that his hands shook with excitement. “What’s Voldemort looking for?”

“A locket,” Hildegard breathed.

It took every bit of self-control Harry possessed not to furrow his brow in confusion. “What’s so special about it?”

“His soul is in it.” Even though nobody else could understand her, Hildegard still dropped her volume to a whisper.

Harry nodded slowly, thinking. “Why a locket?”

“How should I know?” Hildegard waved a hand impatiently. “It was what he brought when I told him he needed something for me to put his soul into.”

“And why did you agree to do it in the first place?”

“Protection.” Hildegard gripped the bars tighter as she started trembling again. “I’ve never had much luck with the wizarding world. There are reasons I don’t have any family, and I’m not talking about my kids.”

She blinked heavily, although it didn’t do much to keep her eyes from welling back up. Harry exhaled through his nose.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

Hildegard lingered at the bars as Harry left again. Parasca kept glancing at him.

“Well?” she asked when there was enough distance between them and Hildegard’s cell.

Harry brought them to a stop on the stairs. He didn’t want to discuss it where other prisoners might hear, but Harry still hesitated. He wasn’t sure they were done at Azkaban yet.

“I’m curious if Lucius would corroborate the information,” Harry told her. “Do you think we could swing by his cell?”

Parasca looked at the guard, who shrugged. With that, they changed trajectory at the bottom of the stairs and took the shorter route around to the other side of the prison. They had to go down a few floors along the way. Harry was starting to feel turned around, although was relieved when they made it to where Lucius Malfoy sat on his bed with his knees up to his chest. There was a loose thread on his pants, which seemed to be his entertainment for the afternoon as he picked at it.

“Malfoy,” the guard addressed him. “Visitors.”

Lucius looked over, eyebrows raised in interest. They slowly sunk back to their usual resting place as he stared at Harry. He couldn’t suppress a smirk as Harry was let into his cell.

“Well, isn’t this precious,” Lucius said. “ _Auror_ Potter.”

“I don’t really have time for your attitude,” Harry replied as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “We came here today to question Hildegard, but she won’t give us anything about what she made with Voldemort without getting a deal first. We figured while she’s thinking about it, we’d see if you were interested in the same thing.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Lucius asked. He leaned his head back against the wall so that he could see past Harry.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “Do you have anything to say for a deal or not? Or would you rather get left out?”

“Left out, he says,” Lucius repeated with a chuckle. “There is no _left out_. Even if Hildegard told you what it is, you’ll never find it.”

“So then what’s the harm in telling me?” Harry asked. “Worst case, you send the Ministry on a wild goose chase. Best case, we beat Voldemort to it and we cut you a deal for being helpful.”

“Worst case, I betray the Dark Lord,” Lucius corrected Harry. “Like I’m sure Draco was keen to tell you after he visited—if you weren’t eavesdropping yourself—it doesn’t matter if the Dark Lord finds Norheim or not. His reign is inevitable, which means my leaving here is too. There’s nothing you could offer me that isn’t already guaranteed to me by him.”

“Okay.” Harry shrugged and headed for the cell door. “Let me know if you change your mind, I guess. Hildegard looked like she was thinking hard, so I can’t guarantee you’ll have much time.”

“Dully noted.” Lucius waved his hand toward Harry dismissively.

Harry was glad for a quick exchange. He couldn’t take Lucius Malfoy in very large doses. Still, Lucius’ confidence meant something different now that Harry knew _why_ Lucius was so confident. They were all looking for a locket that had gone missing over fifteen years ago? Where would Harry— _anybody_ —even start?


	24. Prescriptive, Descriptive

“So Voldemort’s a lich,” Parasca summarized when Harry told her everything.

Knowledge of what exactly they were up against did little to make Harry feel better. Parasca mirrored his mood as she rubbed her eyes before gazing out the ferry window.

“I had a feeling,” she said after a moment. “So long as Voldemort’s phylactery remains intact, he will never die. He’ll just do what he did when the Killing Curse rebounded off you. What fragment of his soul remains in him will vacate his body. He’ll float around until he’s strong enough to return, and then he’ll do just that.”

“Unless the locket is destroyed?”

“This just got a lot more complicated,” Parasca replied. “Phylacteries aren’t any tougher to destroy than whatever material they’re made of. The difficult thing is actually _finding_ them. Liches either hide them away really well, or keep them as close as possible.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with what we know.” Harry tried to stay positive about it since this information had to be worth something. “Voldemort trusted Hildegard with it. That’s probably why it was on Fantomøy. We heard from Marit how difficult it was to happen upon the place. If you did and you didn’t have a reason to be there, you’d see a scary-looking place and decide to leave. If you _did_ have a reason to try visiting, you’d get lured off and die. If you made it past the huldra and nøkken, you’d come up against Hildegard herself. I’m sure she must be capable of the same sorts of things Ram—Dagmar did to Voldemort in the Little Hangleton graveyard.

“So this was the hiding place of the phylactery,” Harry said. “We can confirm it was intact on Halloween of 1981. Right? Since he didn’t die?”

Parasca nodded.

“Does that mean Magnus couldn’t have destroyed it after?” Harry posed, thinking fast. “Magnus never met Hildegard until three months after Voldemort disappeared. He left a year later. Why would Magnus think to take something like a _locket_ with him? Unless he knew what it was?”

“What does that have to do with Bjorn?” Parasca asked.

“Maybe nothing.” Harry shrugged. “Accidentally smothering Bjorn might have just pushed Magnus to leave before Hildegard got him. The locket could’ve been an afterthought.”

Parasca pushed her lips from side to side. “Hildegard was so young, though. She didn’t have any family? So how would she have even learned how to create a phylactery, let alone perform what was necessary?”

“We know she did.” Harry shrugged. “Otherwise Voldemort would’ve died when he tried to kill me. How do you make a phylactery, exactly? Do you know? She told Voldemort to bring something she could put his soul into. Could it really be any harder than. . .I don’t know, trading a plant over to a larger pot?”

“I think if it was that easy, more people would do it.”

“She’s a druid. Maybe she could without as much effort.”

“Possibly. Dementors can, after all. They consume the soul like food, but druids. . .who knows.”

“Hildegard would, but I don’t know if at this point the details matter,” Harry said. “The reality of the situation is that Voldemort’s phylactery is out there somewhere, either broken or intact. Voldemort wants Norheim so he can find out which. Voldemort is also currently injured. He’s maybe not just vulnerable to death, but to being overpowered. If he gets taken out now. . .he might just be gone. If he could still come back, we buy ourselves some time to find the locket.”

“It would also focus the Death Eaters on finding Voldemort’s spirit instead,” Parasca added. “Well. . .the ones that know about this process. Lucius is making me think. He’s Voldemort’s right-hand man, and yet he never thought to look for him when he vanished in 1981? That means he didn’t know about it back then.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe nobody did but Hildegard.”

“What about Bellatrix and Rodolphus?” Parasca asked. “They seemed pretty sure Voldemort would return when they were arrested back in 1981.”

“Maybe,” Harry repeated. “Does it matter?”

Lots of the loose ends Harry had been chasing were probably irrelevant now that they had a clear view into what Voldemort’s goals and plans were. Harry had heard about lichdom in his seventh year of Hogwarts, so it wasn’t exactly a secret. Harry hadn’t been out of school for more than a month when he learned about the existence of druids. Tom Riddle must have at some point, as well. Not only that, Voldemort tracked the druids down close enough to where he and Hildegard crossed paths. Or, Hildegard knew about Voldemort and approached _him_. It didn’t seem so unrealistic to Harry that someone so young and scared living alone might be drawn to Voldemort. Whether Hildegard wanted to merely be seen as being on Voldemort’s side or simply didn’t want to become yet another casualty was up for debate. It didn’t necessarily have to be one or the other.

Harry went straight to his desk when he and Parasca returned to the Ministry so he could write everything down that they had learned. The two of them piqued Kingsley’s interest when he came by to see how their visit had gone, but he said they could meet up once their notes were straight. At the same time as adding everything he knew about Voldemort’s status as a lich, Harry skimmed through everything else he’d ever written down. It pleased him to finally write _irrelevant_ underneath Malfoy and Ramstad’s names. They’d merely been a means in this investigation to attain the information Harry now possessed.

Harry thought about the nightmare that Ramstad had recounted to him. She was young and had heard noises coming from the next room over. Had that been Bjorn crying? Ramstad and Harry had already reached the conclusion that Magnus was most likely the man whose face she couldn’t see. If Ramstad had been standing there when Bjorn went quiet and still, did she perhaps realize what had happened? Was two and a half years old enough to understand?

It put a damper on Harry’s excitement. As far as he knew, at least, this wasn’t something that Ramstad needed to hear about.

Kingsley listened to what Harry and Parasca had to say, but didn’t have anything to add. He pulled Harry aside later and suggested the two of them sit down with Dumbledore the next evening to discuss it. Harry just nodded, tired from the day. He ended up going home afterward rather than to Diagon Alley.

 _Hope you’re not disappointed or anything,_ Harry wrote to Pansy in his messenger. _My brain is just mush. I ended up making a big break today so there’s been a lot to deal with that and think about._

 _It’s okay. Congrats on the break,_ Pansy replied, along with a smiley face. _What’re you doing tomorrow?_

 _I have a meeting in the evening. Not sure what time._ Harry paused. _I definitely want to get together either Saturday or Sunday. Kingsley, Parasca, and I talked today and it sounds like Parasca and I are going to be abroad all next week._

 _Oh really?_ (Harry could read Pansy’s disappointment through even that few of words.) _I guess we got messengers just in time, then._

_Yeah._

Because of Pansy, dread trickled in on Harry’s excitement to go to Trondheim. He didn’t have a lot of hope that he and Parasca could locate Fantomøy, but they had to at least try. It seemed likely that Hildegard hadn’t been back there since she left in 1983. As far as crime scenes went (if this counted as one), it was well-preserved. All Harry wasn’t sure about was the huldra and nøkken. If he and Parasca could at least find the place, that was a good starting point. It was even possible that the huldra and nøkken had moved on without Hildegard to tie them there.

Harry spent all of Friday at work straightening out his case notes again. They’d gotten so messy that he decided just to rewrite them. Carefully constructing a timeline took most of his day:

_197?-Oct 30 1981: Hildegard helps Voldemort construct phylactery  
_ _Oct 31 1981: Voldemort disappears  
_ _Feb 1982: Hildegard meets Magnus  
_ _Christmas 1982: Magnus tells Marit he’s trying to convince Hildegard to leave Fantomøy  
_ _Christmas 1982-Christmas 1983: Magnus accidentally kills Bjorn and leaves Fantomøy with Voldemort’s phylactery, sends letter to Marit saying he was leaving with Hildegard (covering tracks in case Death Eaters came looking). Hildegard leaves Fantomøy with Dagmar and reappears in Tromsø. Hildegard meets Erik Ramstad  
_ _Christmas 1983-1985: Erik visits Marit at some point to find out what she might know about where Magnus went  
_ _1985: Hildegard and Erik move to Bergen with Dagmar  
_ _1990: Johannes Ramstad dies and Hildegard, Erik, and Dagmar move to Ramstad Manor in Britain  
_ _1991: Voldemort returns to Britain  
_ _June 1995: Voldemort gets a new body  
_ _Summer 1995: Hildegard and Erik join the Death Eaters. Voldemort starts looking for Magnus, enlisting Lucius Malfoy, Hugo Crabbe, and Everett Goyle  
_ _Summer 1995-Summer 1997: Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange join search for Magnus  
_ _Summer 1997: Ramstad Manor raided, Crabbe and Goyle defect, Death Eaters had Norheim’s location narrowed down between Zurich, Switzerland and Barcelona, Spain  
_ _August 31 1997: Dagmar uses Voldemort’s own wand against him and injures him  
_ _March 19, 1998: attempt to enlist Hildegard and Erik fails, Erik dies, Hildegard, Lucius, and Rodolphus are arrested and taken to Azkaban, Bellatrix and Voldemort escape along with three other Death Eaters, Narcissa goes into hiding_

Some stuff about it still bothered Harry, but he tried not to get too bogged down in irrelevant details. He didn’t want anything to take away from the main point as he met with Dumbledore and Kingsley later at Malfoy Manor. Dumbledore listened quietly, head bowed, as Harry ran through everything he had.

A silence followed, after which Dumbledore went, “Hm.”

“Er. . .yeah,” Harry lamely replied. “So I have no idea where to start on finding that locket. I don’t know how reliable it is either that Magnus is somewhere between Switzerland and Spain. How would anyone know that if they haven’t seen a single sign of him? He might be in Japan or South America, or something. He might have just tossed the phylactery in some random lake between here and there, although thankfully that doesn’t seem likely. I think he took it intent to destroy it. Why else would he?”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Dumbledore said. “If Magnus wanted Voldemort to be nearly guaranteed immortality—well, until the elements wore the locket down, anyway—he would’ve perhaps thrown the phylactery away where nobody could find it. In reality, with Hildegard on Fantomøy was probably the best place for the locket to be. If she was only nineteen when Voldemort vanished in 1981, she had a lot of life ahead of her with which she could guard it. Hildegard may have also intended to pass the job along to Dagmar or Bjorn when she grew too old to do so.”

“Parasca and I are going to start the search based on our own information,” Harry told him. “We’re going to Trondheim on Monday for the week to see about maybe finding Fantomøy. I’m not too hopeful, to be honest. It might be under some kind of illusion spell, or maybe even a Fidelius Charm. But we have to try.”

“Of course.” Dumbledore smiled at him. “Now. . .I couldn’t say where in the world this locket is, but I have a feeling I know what it would look like. I might even know what one it specifically is.”

“Oh?”

“Salazar Slytherin had one. It was a family heirloom. It’s been lost to time after the Gaunts possessed it, but if Hildegard specifically mentioned a locket, I’m inclined to believe that Voldemort found it. He wouldn’t think of anything less valuable worth holding his soul.”

Harry added that information to his work messenger when he got home before putting it away in a drawer for the weekend. He would take it with him to Trondheim. Until then, he didn’t really want to think about it. He wanted to spend time with Pansy, and maybe go for a pint with Ron if he wasn’t busy Saturday night. Since both Ron and Pansy worked during the day on Saturday, Harry went for a visit then to Hermione’s. He felt like he needed somebody to talk to about the parts of his interview irrelevant to the investigation.

Hermione listened quietly while she sipped her tea. Eventually, the drink wound up forgotten in front of her. She remembered it again when silence followed Harry’s retelling about Bjorn.

“So. . .that’s what happened,” Harry eventually said. “I’m just not sure what to do with it.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“I guess I’ve maybe gotten a little friendly with Dagmar and Malfoy,” Harry replied. “They’ve been helpful, Dagmar especially. Do I owe it to tell her? Malfoy said she’s been going through a bit of a rough time with all this family stuff. Doesn’t feel like she has anyone, or anything.”

“Yeah.” Hermione sighed. “She told me last we talked that she suspected Norheim was maybe her father. I’m worried for her for when we find him. She’ll probably want to talk to him. The good thing is she had a father figure growing up, so she’s not putting all of her eggs into one basket. It’s probably inevitable she learn she used to have a brother. She’ll most likely put two-and-two together that that’s where her nightmares came from.”

“She doesn’t have them anymore,” Harry said. “She told me they stopped after she met with Voldemort.”

“Hm.” Hermione furrowed her brow. “I wonder what the connection is, there. She would’ve probably been around as a baby when Voldemort was still working with Hildegard on his phylactery. Did Dagmar ever meet Voldemort before the night in the graveyard?”

Harry shook his head. “She would’ve just been a baby, like you said.”

Hermione made work of her bottom lip as she gazed into her teacup.

“What’re you thinking?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I mean. . .I’m sure Dumbledore’s considered the possibility before. Maybe even _you_ have. Hildegard lived all by herself on this island with two children, and no men around except for one?”

“It’s the ages that get me,” Harry said right away. “Voldemort was born in 1926, Hildegard in 1962. That’s thirty-six years difference. It maybe wouldn’t mean much if they were older, but Hildegard was only eighteen when Dagmar was born. I don’t know if Bjorn was older or younger than her. Could you imagine being, say, somewhere between fifteen or eighteen years old, and having children with someone three times your age? Or even just shagging them for any reason at all?”

“I’m with someone older,” Hermione reminded Harry. “Not that Viktor’s _that_ old. We were always mindful of the age difference since I was underage. Luckily for me it worked out, but that’s not always the case.”

“I really don’t think Voldemort would’ve forced Hildegard.” A weird defensiveness rose in Harry’s chest, bordering on immense discomfort. “I don’t think he _could_ have. You didn’t see what Dagmar did to him in the graveyard. I did. She gave me her memory of it. Hildegard isn’t an innocent victim in the whole thing. She knew what she was doing. She told me herself. She wanted protection. And I don’t think Voldemort would’ve wanted kids, especially not if he didn’t know Hildegard that well or trust her. What if Hildegard tried to use them as leverage over Voldemort, you know?”

“Do you think Voldemort would’ve cared enough about any offspring he had?” Hermione posed. “Voldemort _did_ trust Hildegard, though. That’s the thing. He trusted her with his soul. He not only allowed her to remove it from his body, she held onto it for him.”

“Maybe the kids were leverage for _him_.”

“That implies coercion though, which you said probably didn’t happen,” Hermione said.

“Doesn’t have to.” Harry shook his head. “Not if Hildegard agrees. She might have wanted children anyway.”

“Other than conjecture based on Hildegard and Voldemort’s thought processes—and I suppose the timing and placing—what evidence do you have that Voldemort and Dagmar are related? Or that they aren’t?”

Harry thought about it. He’d decided that the familial relationships didn’t matter. They weren’t relevant to his search for Magnus and Slytherin’s locket. He could see how it mattered to Hermione, though. This was a good friend of hers that they discussed. Even if Harry wasn’t as close to Dagmar, he couldn’t help but be curious either.

“The wand,” Harry said after a moment. “Wands can be passed down through family, can’t they? Ron used Charlie’s old wand when we all started at Hogwarts, and I’m pretty sure Neville was using his dad’s.”

“It happens.” Hermione nodded. “Thing is. . .well, Voldemort’s wand is yew and phoenix feather core, right? That phoenix feather makes for a very highly personal wand. They don’t change allegiance easily. But. . .I don’t know, if Voldemort’s blood is in Dagmar’s veins. . .”

“Voldemort expected the wand to work when he gave it to her,” Harry recalled. “He said something about finding out what she was capable of when all the conditions were right. He didn’t think the wand would make a difference, or maybe just not enough to matter.”

“So what would that mean for your investigation?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing, I don’t think.” Harry shrugged. “The phylactery is a whole separate matter. If Dagmar had anything to do with it at all, she was just part of a trade. She was too young to be involved. I don’t even think it would matter to her if he was her father. She doesn’t feel anything for him. Nothing positive, anyway.”

“Still, might be best to keep it quiet.” Hermione toyed with her cup. “Dagmar’s in a vulnerable place when it comes to blood ties. Even if Voldemort’s the only family she has, that might be compelling enough to her to feel some sort of conflict whether or not she hates him.”

“Hildegard might not stay in Azkaban,” Harry said. “She told me about the phylactery on the premise she get considered for release after Voldemort is gone. Like, gone-gone. If we find his phylactery and destroy it, and then he dies. . .or whatever. He’s not in good shape.”

Hermione made a face. “You’re sure Hildegard should have the option of getting out?”

“If her information is good enough to get rid of Voldemort completely. . .” Harry shrugged. “It’s up to the Minister. I don’t think Hildegard would hang around if she got out. She’d probably go back to Fantomøy and disappear ’til the end of her days. She’s not wrong that she doesn’t have a good experience dealing with the wizarding world. I don’t think she ever would again after all this.”

“Maybe not.”

Harry would’ve liked less to think about when he left Hermione’s later. Maybe it all wasn’t relevant to what he was doing, but it might be some kind of factor in how it all played out. Harry figured he probably made the right decision not to tell Dagmar and Malfoy anything that wasn’t completely necessary.

Since Harry would be gone for a week and they hadn’t made much time for each other lately, Ron agreed to postpone his philandering for a night so that he and Harry could catch up over a pint. Ron’s newfound personal life ended up being a lot of the discussion. Although Harry’s face found itself frequently in his hands over it, some of the information and advice about sex that Ron imparted seemed solid. The wealth of it made Harry slightly nervous for how it might become relevant to his life soon. He tried not to think about it too much as, while arranging where and when to meet with Pansy on Sunday, she suggested they meet in Diagon Alley. She could apparate them to her place. Her parents were gone to Nantes for the weekend.

That at least meant Harry didn’t have to meet Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson (yet), but he couldn’t really figure out what Pansy was angling for by giving them alone time somewhere so private. They weren’t even officially going together yet, so what were the odds that Pansy would want to have sex today? Harry didn’t feel ready for it, but he listened when Ron said sometimes it just happened. Ron came up to Harry’s room ‘bearing gifts’ that morning with a spare bottle of Natalise Potion. Despite his doubts, Harry took some just in case.

It made Harry more nervous than he ought to be as he waited in Diagon Alley for Pansy. His stomach fluttered when Pansy appeared. Because it was a day she didn’t have to work, she had put extra time into her appearance. Harry always thought she was pretty anyway, but there was certainly something special about how much more work Pansy went through when dressing only for him. Perfume touched Harry’s nose as he leaned down to kiss her. He almost felt bad to do so for how it might mess up her makeup.

Pansy didn’t seem to care. “Ready to go, then?”

“Whenever you are.”

She took his hand and closed her eyes the way she usually did when concentrating. When they arrived at their destination, they stood on a path in front of a two-storey brick house. The grass in the field surrounding it was as brilliantly-green as the tree foliage. They couldn’t be too far from London, Harry reasoned, for the weather to feel much the same as it had in Diagon Alley.

“Weird question,” Harry said as Pansy led him toward the front porch. There was a bench swing on it. “Where are we?”

Pansy laughed. “Probably a long shot, but do you know where Denham is?”

“Er. . .”

“It’s about twenty miles west of London,” Pansy told him. “It’s actually a really nice area. We could go for a walk along the towpath later, if you like.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Going for walks was something Harry was overly familiar with with Pansy. It felt like some semblance of his comfort zone when he was straying so far away from it otherwise.

“Lunch first, then a tour.” Pansy let them in through the front door. “I might as well show you around. I’m not sure Gleazy is finished making our food yet.”

“House elf?” Harry asked as he looked around. There was a dining room to the right, a den of sorts to the left, and a great room with a nice fireplace straight ahead. The base of some stairs stuck out from behind the dining room wall.

“Mhm.” Pansy nodded, then pressed her lips. “Er, that’s okay, right? Gleazy’s been with the family since well before I was born.”

“Oh—yeah, that’s not what I was getting at.”

Who Harry assumed to be Gleazy appeared then from past the stairs. She wore some nice pieces of fabric pinned together, and a big smile.

She bowed. “It is a pleasures for Gleazy to say hello to such a good friend of the Young Mistress! Gleazy can takes your jacket, if you please.”

“Sure.” Harry shrugged his off. “Thanks.”

Gleazy disappeared with it. Harry followed Pansy into the great room.

“There’s not much to the tour, I guess.” Pansy pointed toward the kitchen, then at the double doors down a hallway running past it under the stairs. “Kitchen obviously, and those doors there lead to my parents’ room. I pretty much get the top floor all to myself. Come on.”

At the top of the stairs, there was what looked like a spare room to the right. A short hallway had a toilet to the left, and then Pansy led Harry through a closed door past it. It was a large room, and not as organized as Harry expected. He couldn’t help but smile, slightly amused at all the fabrics and material strewn across a few different surfaces past her made bed.

“Looks kind of like the back of Madam Malkin’s,” he commented.

“Yeah.” Pansy chuckled breathlessly, looking a little nervous. “I have my own system. Gleazy knows not to touch any of it, otherwise who knows where something might have gone?”

“I have my own system in my room too,” Harry joked. “I don’t think Kreacher bothers going in there, although I’m not sure I’ve explicitly told him not to.”

“Kreacher?”

“I have a house elf too,” Harry told her. “He’s, er. . .well, I inherited him, so technically he’s mine. He’s more like a flatmate, really. I just let him do whatever he wants. Sometimes he cleans.”

“He doesn’t cook for you or anything?” Pansy asked as they left her room.

“Ron and I cook for ourselves if we care enough to.” Harry shrugged. “Though we’ve been a bit too busy lately to even bother with that much.”

“I’ve definitely noticed it’s more days than not lately we catch dinner together.” Pansy ran a hand down the inside of Harry’s arm. “I’ve been enjoying it.”

“Me too.”

Pansy studied Harry with an expression that had quickly grown familiar to him, but he was hesitant to kiss her in her room. As the moment stretched out, so did Pansy’s smile. It turned impish as she nudged him with her shoulder. “Why so shy all of a sudden?”

Harry shrugged again, this time with his cheeks pinched against a grin. “Just. . .I dunno. Is it appropriate to make a move when we’re at your house?”

Pansy snickered. “Of course it is. I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t trust you. And I know you can tell by now when I want you to kiss me. You don’t miss it, otherwise.”

That made Harry feel better, that he wasn’t as oblivious as Ron and Hermione liked to tease him for. To be met with enthusiasm didn’t hurt either as far as encouragement went. In a way, Harry was growing a little unsure about how things progressed between him and Pansy. They’d agreed to take things slow, but now Harry was starting to feel like something needed to be said about it. He wasn’t really like Ron in that he could snog a bunch of girls—even one, really—without some level of commitment. It burned Harry’s lower abdomen as he and Pansy got a little silly that he didn’t just snog a girl. He could be snogging his girlfriend if he cared enough to say something and make it happen.

Air ran down Harry’s chin as Pansy exhaled heavily. He thought maybe he’d pushed her too hard against the wall without meaning to, but she didn’t look hurt or uncomfortable when Harry pulled away. Her eyes were half-lidded, their hazel colour nearly taken over by the blackness of her dilated pupils. Her lips were swollen. Harry had a feeling that his had turned the same shade as her lipstick.

Pansy ran her thumb purposefully over Harry’s bottom lip, making them both snort. Harry didn’t feel done. As he rested his forehead against Pansy’s, it became clear she wasn’t either. She tilted her jaw up to take a playful nip at Harry’s lip. Harry’s entire system jolted with it, his blood thickening. Although he put his weight on her as he leaned back in, Harry had to be careful. He still didn’t feel ready, and he _really_ didn’t want to have to excuse himself to the toilet and wait out the obvious sign that Pansy turned him on. He should have had a wank before he came over. Ron suggesting it was crude and embarrassing at the time, but it was less so than what might happen right now.

Thankfully, Pansy seemed open to deescalate. Harry stood up straighter to start, then kept his tongue out of reach from hers. She seemed a little tickled by the shift. Perhaps she knew what went through Harry’s mind. A glimmer in her eye suggested it, although it softened when Harry kissed her cheek and forehead.

“It’s definitely a lot easier to get carried away when we’re not in public,” she admitted with a soft smile.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Harry replied, nervous again even if he’d managed to avoid a very awkward situation. “I kind of wonder, though. Maybe it’s time we talk about things?”

Pansy searched him, her gaze darting back and forth between Harry’s eyes. The remains of her silly conduct hushed in favour of matching his seriousness. “Things like what?”

“You know, like. . .us and stuff.”

That knowing look returned with a fresh glint in Pansy’s eye. She ran a hand up Harry’s arm and squeezed his shoulder. “We can over lunch.”

Gleazy had their food ready in the kitchen. Since it was such a nice autumn day, Pansy suggested they eat out on the terrace. The sides on their plates were different. Harry had chips, while Pansy had a garden salad. They’d eaten together enough times for Pansy to know his preferences, which reaffirmed Harry’s belief that there wasn’t really anything to angle for in the conversation they were about to have.

Pansy craned her neck as Harry peeked inside his sandwich. “All good?”

“Yep.” Ham and Swiss was Harry’s favourite, and Gleazy had even lightly toasted it so that the cheese softened. “You know my favourites.”

“I’ve heard you order it enough times.” Pansy shrugged, but the colour in her cheeks gave her self-satisfaction away. “I debated if you’d want something tried and true, or something different.”

“I would’ve ate whatever, but it’s nice you pay attention to stuff like that.”

“You know all _my_ favourites, so it’s only right.”

“I guess that’s true.”

The terrace had a long couch that encompassed two corners. Pansy sat near one of the tables so that they could put their plates down. Once they were settled, Pansy pulled her legs up underneath her and leaned against Harry’s side.

She poked at her salad. “So what about us, then?”

“We might as well call it for what it is, shouldn’t we?” Harry asked. “We’re pretty much going together. We just haven’t said so yet.”

“Yeah,” Pansy quickly agreed. She nudged Harry, smiling. “The only thing that’ll change for me is if I’m making smalltalk with shop patrons. I can just call you my boyfriend rather than ‘the bloke I’m seeing’.”

Harry’s stomach fluttered not only to hear her call him her boyfriend, but at the thought Pansy talked about him at all. “I haven’t run into that issue, to be honest. Work isn’t very personal at the office. With Ron and Hermione, I just call you by name since they already know what’s going on. They probably think we’ve been going together proper for a while now, actually.”

“Like you said, we pretty much were,” Pansy said. “When you start seeing each other every day, I think that’s a good sign you’re getting cozy.”

“Plus I wasn’t sweating bullets to have this conversation.” Harry snorted. “I’ve _never_ been good at this stuff. Everything I’ve ever tried has been pretty disastrous, really.”

“Was there more than just Cho?” Pansy asked.

“Oh—no.” Harry paused. “Not really, I guess. I asked Cho to the Yule Ball back during the Tournament, but she was already going with Cedric. Me and Ron took Parvati and Padma, which went absolutely swimmingly. Cho. . .I don’t know, things just got strange with that. I think there were feelings before Cedric died, but we bonded more over that than anything else. You’d think since she played Quidditch there’d be that, but there’s only so long you can talk about one thing. There was just nothing there when we gave it a shot. Then, by then. . .I was dealing with a lot. Dating was pretty much the last thing on my mind until we were done school. Even then it kinda still was, but this was a nice surprise.”

Smile warm, Pansy gently squeezed Harry’s thigh. “I had no expectations at all. You were someone safe to fancy while we were still at school because I didn’t think it would ever go anywhere. Ginny told me to try, and I _begged_ her not to talk to you about it. I’m. . .well, I like to think maybe I’ve had some time to straighten up and all after being by myself for a while, but I still don’t handle rejection very well.”

“I haven’t really noticed, but if you ask Ron or Hermione, apparently I don’t notice a lot.”

Pansy laughed. “You notice enough.”

“I like to think I’m getting better,” Harry said. “I had to, to be an Auror. Working as one too, you start learning to see things between the lines and all.”

“Definitely a skill you need.”

Harry had certainly made progress in it. Looking back on himself a year ago, Harry felt nothing but second-hand embarrassment as he remembered how blind he’d been to Malfoy and Dagmar flirting in the library at Hogwarts.

Thinking about Malfoy made Harry hesitate a bit, for he was sure Pansy would have more than a little to say about him.

“So. . .just Malfoy for you then, or. . .?” Harry asked.

“Mhm.” Pansy slowed in eating, poking her salad again. She wouldn’t look at Harry. “Erm. . .hm, how do I explain this? I do have a bit of baggage from him.”

“The arranged marriage?”

Pansy froze other than turning wide eyes on Harry. Harry hadn’t ever gotten a look like that from her.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry—”

“How did you know about that?” Her tone was quiet and even. To Harry it almost sounded dangerous, or at least on the precipice of it. That depended on his answer. “Did Draco tell you?”

Harry shook his head. “I found out around last Christmas. Just after.”

“How?”

“Going back a bit to last summer, when I turned of-age, I was old enough to join Dumbledore’s group. Me, Ron, and Hermione all did. Before we went back to school, we were given a list of students to keep an eye on—the ones that had Death Eaters for parents. You heard last summer that Crabbe and Goyle’s dads went missing, right?”

Pansy’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Yes. I wondered what happened.”

“They’re in hiding now, so I guess it doesn’t hurt to say they turned,” Harry told her. “They did right before Christmas. Crabbe and Goyle—the ones our age, I mean—worked kind of like informants. They basically just told us things they’d overheard in the dorms, since Malfoy and Nott were ones we were paying attention to. They told us Nott and Greengrass were engaged, and that you two had been up until the summer.”

Pansy nodded mindlessly, gaze stuck to her salad. Her hand trembled as she poked it, but Harry figured it was more from nerves than anger. He’d seen Pansy angry before. It was pretty hard to miss.

“Yeah, that whole thing. . .” Pansy’s exhale shuddered with her apprehension. “It’s probably only fair you know about it so you don’t have to wonder. When you expect to marry someone, it’s _really_ hard to come away from that. It ended so suddenly too. I’m actually not totally sure how I’m even able to trust anyone again, or at least not so soon afterward. I haven’t really. . .well, in the last year, Draco dumped me, Dagmar basically took Milly and Daphne, and then Parvati and Lavender were totally two-faced when I tried being friends with them. I guess it forced me to. . .I wasn’t the nicest person, either. I had my sink or swim moment about it, and I’m glad I went the way I did. Bloody hell, I was so miserable.”

“I hope it’s not bad of me to say I could tell.”

“See, you notice things,” Pansy joked with a fresh nudge. She turned serious again. “As for the arranged marriage, though. You know how those work, right?”

“I got a run-down,” Harry said. “You get picked for each other basically when you’re twelve, right? Engaged at seventeen, then married at nineteen?”

“Mhm.” Pansy’s hair came loose from her ear when she nodded. She tucked it back. “Every one is different. You don’t _have_ to be in love or anything like that, although I think nowadays the culture’s changed and it’s more important. It was to me, anyway, and Theo and Daphne went together too because of it. Draco and I started going together third-year. You could say we jumped on it a bit faster, or—I did, anyway. I fancied him, and I didn’t want to wait. Looking back now that I have something to compare it to, I basically talked Draco into it. It shouldn’t be that much work to be with someone. You and me, we just kind of fell in together. It was natural.”

Harry agreed with a nod.

“That said, I don’t want to give you the impression I compare the two of you,” Pansy quickly said. “You’re very different people. I was a different person when I went with him too. I was sort of obsessed with him. Looking back, I think I knew I was holding onto something that, if not for the arranged marriage, wouldn’t last. It made me so insecure.”

“I get that.”

“We hadn’t talked wedding or anything, but we’d discussed kids.” Pansy shrugged. “I wanted them. He said later when I asked him why he called things off that he didn’t want as many as me, if any at all. We weren’t on the same page at all, really. I had no idea he wanted to work with dragons. After what that hippogriff of Hagrid’s did to him?”

“That was Malfoy’s own fault.” Harry reached for a chip. “I didn’t expect him to have any goals at _all_ for after Hogwarts.”

“Me neither, really. I asked, and he wouldn’t even tell me.”

“I drug it out of him once,” Harry said. “I had a chance to ask him some questions about where he was about joining the Death Eaters, or possibly already having done that. He was hesitant about the dragons. Said if anyone ever found out he was aiming for it but didn’t get on, he’d look stupid.”

Pansy chuckled. “All about appearances, that one.”

“To be fair, he never really came off as very smart. The requirements to get on as a dragonologist are steep too.” Harry waved it off. “Not that I’m here to defend him, or anything. I just find even with people you don’t much care for, you have to give credit where it’s due sometimes.”

“You two get along all right now, though, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Honestly, maybe even to the point where we could eventually be mates. It all depends. It hasn’t been weird yet that I’m seeing his ex, although I couldn’t tell you if he even knows about us. I never explicitly said. He lives pretty far away too, not that Bergen is _that_ far, I guess. It’s just hard making friends when you’re not in school. Even Ron and I, yeah, we live together and all, but we still don’t really see a whole lot of each other. Hermione was smart to make us clear every other Sunday so that the three of us can keep in touch.”

“You don’t see her at the Ministry?”

Harry shook his head. “Not everyday. She’s busy too, and I can’t blame her for picking Viktor over me as someone to eat lunch with.”

Pansy turned how she sat so that she could rest an elbow on the back of the cushions. “I’d pick you over anyone else too. That’s the point of going with someone, isn’t it? Basically having a best friend that you—ah. . .”

Pansy trailed off with new colour in her cheeks. Harry waited for her to chew a bite off her sandwich and swallow.

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Pansy’s tone sharpened in a joking manner. “A best friend that you shag.”

Harry figured she was going there. The conversation was too, regardless of the jest. Harry shrugged, trying his best not to feel embarrassed or like a late bloomer—even if he was.

“Haven’t been there,” Harry said. “I’m sure you could gather that.”

“Just never wanted to, or. . .?”

Harry bunched his lips all to one side, then grabbed a chip to chew on as further delay. “I dunno. I’ve been so distracted with other things, and maybe seeing and dealing with things no kid should messed me up a little. Even with Ron and Hermione, I’ve wondered if I shouldn’t even have friends because they’re at-risk just being around me. They insist, so there’s nothing I can really do about that. It’s really hard to be able to want to be closer than that to anyone. I just can’t go through it again. Cedric died right in front of me. Then my godfather died. Right there, right in front of me. Again.”

Harry didn’t look at Pansy. She’d rested a hand on his forearm, her thumb moving rhythmically.

“I hate talking about it.” Harry forced a small laugh. “I know it’s sad. I just can’t stand people looking at me like they know it is too. I’ve been looked at—stared at—my entire life. I would’ve much rather been a nobody.”

“I don’t blame you.”

She was smiling when Harry chanced looking at her. It was soft in the way it went whenever she listened to any kind of story Harry told. Obviously this one was a lot heavier than any other, but it made Harry feel better that, yeah, it was part of him, but it didn’t have to be anymore significant than things like flying the Ford Anglia to Hogwarts with Ron.

Harry rested his free hand on hers. “Can’t change it, I guess. It is what it is. But that’s where I’m coming from. It’s not like I have no interest in being that close to somebody, just. . .yeah.”

“I think it’s actually really smart that you can make the connection between sexuality and emotional well being,” Pansy said. “It’s a big thing for some people. I figured it out after Draco and I split up. I thought about trying something casual because I really missed sex, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m not like that. Maybe it’s because everything I knew about relationships before that was through an arranged marriage. You commit, and that’s it. I need that first.”

“Me too.” Harry leaned his head back against the cushion. “I’ve told you before I have trust issues. I could never just hop in bed with someone, I don’t think. I didn’t even really think I’d ever get _this_ far while Voldemort—” (Pansy blinked, but she was used to hearing his name from Harry) “—was still out and about. I told you I had that break at work, though. Things are starting to look. . .promising.”

“Oh?” Pansy’s face lit up and her spine straightened with interest. “Do you think it’ll be over soon?”

“Maybe. Hard to say. It depends, but I’m hopeful.”

For such a small woman, Pansy had some weight to her if she leaned heavily enough on Harry. Her arms slid around his neck. Maybe it was also the heft of their conversation, but the gentlest touch of their lips felt somehow different on this side of it.

“If you’re hopeful, _I’m_ hopeful.” Pansy stayed close, playing with a stray piece of Harry’s hair. “You seem like too much of a realist to ever say that without meaning it.”

“Probably.”


	25. Norheim

“Well, let’s never do _that_ again,” Narcissa said as she came into the kitchen.

Wesley snorted. Shagging on the beach had seemed like a good idea when they riled each other up and were too far away from the house to bother going back. Narcissa had a feeling she’d be finding sand in many cracks and crevices for days yet to come.

It didn’t deter her from Wesley. She put her arms around his middle from behind as he cooked. He was too tall for her to properly watch over his shoulder, but she could see the back elements if she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Should be ready soon,” Wesley told her. “Would you set the table?”

Falling in with Wesley had done wonders to make Narcissa’s situation more bearable. Narcissa hadn’t even noticed that the days were now less than twelve hours long until Wesley mentioned it. If she could spend the expected two months of complete darkness in bed with a warm body and her feet up in the air, it might not be so bad after all. It was a decent coping mechanism and the best boredom-killer Narcissa had come up with yet.

Narcissa thought she was being subtle as they ate by letting her robe drift open. Wesley raised an eyebrow when their gazes met.

“You’re incorrigible,” he told her.

“Easily encourageable.”

“I don’t know that that’s a real word.”

Narcissa laughed. It did little to discourage her, and she had little doubt Wesley wouldn’t follow them through on what she was angling for. Sure enough, there was a lot of touching and groping as they cleaned up after dinner. Narcissa’s already electrified skin hit her blood when Wesley backed her up to the counter. She made a sound of surprise when he hooked her by the thighs and set her on the countertop.

“Watch your back,” she told him with lacking force as he nibbled her neck.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The entire evening disappeared with it. Sunshine came through the bedroom window when Narcissa roused. She was aware that something annoying and repetitive was responsible for kicking her out of sleep. Her brow furrowed as something flicked the tip of her nose in a quick pass, then again.

She gasped harshly when she opened her eyes. Narcissa yanked the comforter up to cover herself. “Bella!”

Bella sat on the edge of the bed, still in her traveller’s cloak. The grin she wore faded and her eyebrows raised as she looked over at Wesley. He’d woken with a similar start and had his wand pointed at her. “Put that thing away. If I was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have waited until you were awake.”

Wesley blinked heavily in his fatigue, his arm falling. As the situation dawned on him, Wesley adjusted the comforter over him. Like Narcissa, he wore nothing underneath it. Neither had expected Bella or the Dark Lord to return for at least a few weeks.

“Could you let us get dressed?” Narcissa asked.

Bella giggled. “Sure.”

She left the room, but didn’t end up going far. When Narcissa returned to her own, Bella waited for her. Dread flooded Narcissa’s skin not unlike the heat of embarrassment to see Bella looking at the picture of Draco and Dagmar.

“Did Wesley give this to you?” Bella asked.

Narcissa nodded. “Nicked it off Daphne. Clare Greengrass took it at graduation.”

“Cute picture,” Bella said with a hint of humour in her tone. “Something about two young purebloods in love. . .it just makes my heart go all fuzzy.”

“I’m sure.” Since Bella didn’t seem like she was going to fly off the handle and take the picture away, Narcissa relaxed. “Would you give me some privacy?”

Bella scoffed. “Like I don’t know what baps look like, Cissy.”

“They’re _my_ baps.”

“Which I’ve already seen this morning.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. With a fresh pair of knickers in hand, she turned her back to Bella and pulled them on with her robe hiding view. “You seem in a good mood. Why are you and the Dark Lord back so soon, anyway?”

“Good news.” The bed creaked as Bella sat down on it. “The Dark Lord is going to rest, and then the four of us are all going to sit down for a little chat.”

Narcissa’s curiosity piqued. “What kind of good news?”

“That’s for the Dark Lord to tell you.”

Although curious, Narcissa dreaded what might come of her first official Death Eater meeting. Why was she being involved now? Did it have something to do with Draco? Did the Dark Lord have a task for her? Would that mean she was getting off this island?

Narcissa headed downstairs once she dressed in order to cook breakfast. It was something to distract herself with. She didn’t know if the Dark Lord intended to join them, but she made enough just in case. He didn’t end up coming to the table when Narcissa called everyone. Bella seemed in her glory as she looked back and forth between Narcissa and Wesley.

“So,” Bella said.

“Don’t,” Narcissa replied.

“Don’t what?” Despite her age and all Bella had ever done, she could still invoke the innocent tone that used to always soften their father if he confronted Bella about something. “I can’t ask questions about what’s happening in my baby sister’s life? There hasn’t been a whole lot to ask after, lately. If I might have a new brother-in-law sometime down the line, I’d like to know.”

Narcissa met Wesley’s gaze. They hadn’t discussed anything long-term.

“I like Wesley.” Bella pat him on the shoulder like she might an animal, making Wesley stiffen. “He’s a good man. Comes from a good lineage. I suppose as far as babies go, you’re both probably done with that, aren’t you?”

“Bella.” Narcissa’s tone sharpened. “Cut it out.”

“Oh, fine. You’re no fun.” Bella rolled her eyes at Narcissa before smiling at Wesley. “Welcome to the family.”

“Er. . .thanks.”

Wesley caught Narcissa’s eye again, studying her before ultimately shrugging. It was better for Bella to be in a playful mood than a suspicious or belligerent one. There were bigger things yet to concern themselves with. When Narcissa and Wesley had been alone, they didn’t have to worry about living a lie in front of the Dark Lord. Today would be the test on just how perceptive he really was.

Narcissa hushed all that through the course of breakfast, and then took it upon herself to clean up afterward. Wesley helped, touching her whenever they passed closely enough. Narcissa exhaled a sigh of relief when Bella finally left to go take a bath.

“Doing all right?” Wesley asked Narcissa.

She nodded. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, though. She’s so insufferable.”

Wesley just chuckled. He rubbed Narcissa’s arms before coming closer to kiss her forehead. “It’s all right. I had a feeling she’d find some fun with it when she found out.”

“I didn’t really think about it.” Narcissa shrugged. “I knew she likes you, which meant no risk for getting hit with a Cruciatus Curse.”

“Fair enough.”

Nobody was around, so Narcissa saw no harm in sneaking a little affection. She and Wesley had put some distance between them later on the kitchen porch when Bella found them again. Narcissa frowned at the smell of her bath products following Bella out, as well as that Bella wore her hair up in Narcissa’s favourite towel.

“That was lovely,” she said as she dropped down beside Narcissa. “Nothing like shaving your legs for the first time in a month.”

“I hope you cleaned the bathtub out,” Narcissa told her.

Bella just giggled, so Narcissa had no idea what she might find. Narcissa peeked into the tub when she went upstairs later, but was surprised to find it indeed clean.

Bella came in behind her. “I’m borrowing your brush.”

“It’ll be broken by the time you’re done.”

“So get Wesley to grab you a new one,” Bella said. “I’m pampering myself today. I deserve it.”

“Why?”

Bella just shrugged again with a gleeful glint in her eyes. “I don’t want to spoil the Dark Lord’s news.”

Narcissa slipped out of the bathroom, Bella following yet again over to her room. Narcissa had hoped for a moment of peace with which to look at the picture of Draco and Dagmar, but Bella wouldn’t let her have it.

“Draco looks so much like Lucius, doesn’t he?” Bella asked.

“Mhm,” Narcissa replied. Their features were similar, but the difference in demeanour had developed into a massive rift. Lucius was always so stiff in a regal way, whereas Draco had relaxed. Even his hair was loose, going into a wave where it peeked out from under his school hat in the picture. His smile reached his eyes, and he was much more openly affectionate toward Dagmar than Lucius was to Narcissa in public space. Draco’s hand was visible in the dip of Dagmar’s waist and he tilted his head toward her. Their sides pressed.

“So what’re you going to tell Lucius?”

Narcissa looked up from her end of the bed. “What do you mean, tell Lucius? It won’t be a surprise to him that I decided our marriage was over.”

“Does he know, though?”

Narcissa paused. “I guess he wouldn’t. I left him a letter on his bed. If he didn’t go home before Azkaban, he wouldn’t have read it.”

“That’s okay, I grabbed it for you. Your ring, too.” Bella worked on the ends of her knotted hair, face set in a grimace. The Sleekeazy’s she’d used in the bath did little to help. “You can give it all to him next time you see him.”

“You say that as if he’s getting out of Azkaban.”

“Eventually.” Bella shrugged. “One thing at a time, though.”

Narcissa sighed and held out her hand for the brush. “Here. You’re getting nowhere on your own.”

Bella slunk to the floor so she could sit in front of Narcissa. It had been a couple decades since Bella last tolerated Narcissa doing this. Bella’s apathy toward her appearance usually left it Narcissa’s responsibility that should Bella need to be presentable for some sort of function, she was.

“You should take care of your hair more often,” Narcissa said as she ran the brush through it all at the end. “It’s really quite lovely.”

Bella scoffed. “Done?”

“Unless you want me to trim the damaged bits.”

“Might as well, I guess.”

They moved to the bathroom for that. Bella watched Narcissa in the mirror, although quickly grew impatient once the worst of it was gone. Narcissa had to convince Bella to let her even it out. Bella didn’t think it mattered since how curly her hair was wouldn’t show any difference between the lengths of each side.

“I should check in on the Dark Lord,” Bella said when Narcissa said she could go.

“No thanks?”

“Thanks, then.”

Narcissa’s curiosity remained high about what the Dark Lord had to say. For Bella to feel more like Narcissa’s sister today than a Death Eater, it had to be something huge. Perhaps whatever job they’d worked on was finally completed, or they had just made some decent progress.

Narcissa was starting to think about dinner when Bella found her going through everything in the kitchen with Wesley. Since Bella and the Dark Lord were back, Wesley would need to leave first thing in the morning for a supply run.

“Come on, you two.” Bella hung off the archway frame. “It’s time.”

Narcissa closed the ice box, and Wesley set the list he worked on on the kitchen table. Bella led them through the keeping room into the foyer, where the Dark Lord’s door had always remained shut. Narcissa lingered in the doorway behind Wesley.

It was a library of sorts. There were no books, just loose parchment. Some of it was rolled into scrolls and piled onto the shelves. There was a table at the centre with four chairs. Under the window facing the front of the house was a couch.

Wesley bowed. “My Lord.”

The Dark Lord acknowledged him with a nod before his gaze shifted to Narcissa. She averted her eyes and followed suit.

“Close the door,” the Dark Lord instructed Narcissa. She did, and suppressed a gasp when she met Nagini’s gaze behind it. The snake was curled up as small as she could go, her head rested where her body cut underneath her chin. Her tongue darted out.

“Has Nagini been here the whole time?” Narcissa asked. “I could’ve taken care of her for you, my Lord.”

“Nagini can fend for herself,” the Dark Lord replied. “I let her run free on the mainland so that she wouldn’t have to be confined to the house.”

“She couldn’t roam the island?” Narcissa paused. “I suppose I haven’t seen much for wildlife, now that I think about it.”

“That, and I’m not sure what Lys and Vann would do to her.”

“Lys and Vann? Oh. . .”

Narcissa hadn’t realized that the woman and man on the island actually had names. Bella was giving Narcissa a dirty look, though, so she dropped it and took a seat. There was a stack of parchment in front of the Dark Lord’s chair. The writing was done in runes that Narcissa couldn’t read.

The Dark Lord picked up the pile and moved it to the nearest shelf. He joined the three of them at the table, his scarlet eyes studying Narcissa and Wesley in turn.

“Do the two of you know anything beyond the name about Magnus Norheim?” the Dark Lord asked.

Narcissa shook her head. So did Wesley.

“I suppose some context is in order, then,” the Dark Lord continued. “Bella informs me that you two are at least aware Hildegard has some connection to this place. It’s an old home of hers.”

“I thought so, but I don’t understand why she would live here,” Narcissa said. “It’s such a strange place.”

“Hildegard is not a witch, at least not in the traditional sense,” the Dark Lord replied. “She’s a druid.”

Narcissa nodded, not entirely sure what that meant. She thought about Lucius, and why he might not have told her that. If it was significant enough, Narcissa should’ve been informed as part of arranging Draco with Dagmar.

“This island is well-hidden and well-protected by spells and creatures alike, but it is findable if the proprietor cares for it,” the Dark Lord continued. “Hildegard, in this case. She came to me back in the seventies. She wanted to broker a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Druids by nature are solitary,” the Dark Lord said. “They tend to live in tight-knit clans, but the rest of Hildegard’s clan was systematically exterminated a long time ago. She’s been on her own ever since. To live in solitude is one thing, but Hildegard couldn’t bear complete isolation anymore. She wanted out of it—to be able to roam the world free again. If by doing so she could also dismantle the powers that had first put her in that position and perhaps rebuild something in its place, then she was prepared to offer me the greatest gift one being can offer to another: immortality.”

Narcissa nodded again. Just like imagining Hildegard living here, she had a hard time seeing her sharing the Dark Lord’s craving for power.

“She gave you that, didn’t she?” Narcissa asked. “It’s how you came back after the Potter boy.”

“Yes. . .and no.” The Dark Lord’s gaze averted briefly. “Hildegard had split my soul and set it aside. The process should have been completed around the end of 1981. I didn’t anticipate there should be any problem when I ran into Harry Potter that Halloween.

“The problem comes with Magnus Norheim,” the Dark Lord continued after another moment of thought. “Had Hildegard not met him, the process could’ve been completed back in 1995 when I reassumed corporeal form. This body was only supposed to be temporary. I only needed it long enough to reclaim the one intended for me, the one that Magnus Norheim took.”

“He. . .took your body?”

“Ran off with it as soon as Hildegard told him what it was.” The Dark Lord’s expression set into a resentful sneer. “To her credit, Hildegard has spent fifteen years attempting to right that mistake. She’s followed Norheim’s trail, always close but never close enough. Bella and I have finally found him.”

“I see.”

“There’s a problem,” the Dark Lord said. “Norheim has had his memory significantly erased by a powerful mage. He doesn’t remember a crucial chunk of time, during which he either lost or destroyed what he took. I need something to try and trigger it to return. Hildegard is the ideal choice. As she’s in Azkaban, there is an acceptable alternative. I need Dagmar.”

Narcissa glanced at Bella, who was looking at her just as intently. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where she is. I’ve been here since March. The last place I knew of is Hogwarts, which. . .she’s done there, now.”

“Bella and I stopped by Malfoy Manor on our way back.” The Dark Lord looked at Bella. “It’s hidden under a Fidelius Charm. So is Ramstad Manor. If Dagmar resides at either, she must leave once in a while. Did she ever tell you what she intended to do once she was finished at Hogwarts?”

“Erm. . .” Narcissa squirmed a little. “Can I just ask—sorry, I’m sure it’s not my place. Could Dagmar be hurt by this?”

“No,” the Dark Lord replied. “If all goes according to the plan Bella and I are putting together, she won’t even remember it.”

Narcissa believed him, even if she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. She didn’t have much say either in giving what information the Dark Lord sought. She’d taken his mark and didn’t dare reveal herself already as not having a full heart in it.

“Dagmar wanted to be a Healer,” Narcissa said. “I have no reason to believe she didn’t manage to get on as one. Wesley told me that she graduated with distinction and all Os on her NEWTs. She’s too ambitious not to do anything with marks like that.”

“St. Mungo’s, then?”

“That’s my best guess.” Narcissa shrugged. “I apologize I can’t offer more.”

“It’s sufficient.” The corners of the Dark Lord’s mouth rose. “Thank you.”

His gratitude doubled as a dismissal. Narcissa returned to the kitchen as she led herself, Wesley, and Bella out of the library. Going back to making dinner was some kind of distraction from Narcissa’s nagging thoughts. She really did hope the Dark Lord told her the truth, that Dagmar would be all right. There was no mention of Draco, but Narcissa could only imagine how he would feel if anything happened to Dagmar—especially if it was based on his mother’s information.

Wesley had come to the kitchen as well, intent to finish his list. He touched Narcissa’s lower back. Before he could say anything, Bella turned the corner from the keeping room.

“We’ll be leaving for London tomorrow,” she told them.

“Okay,” Narcissa said.

“Do you want me to say hi to Draco for you if I see him?”

Narcissa stared at Bella. “Don’t you even joke.”

Bella wore a self-satisfied smirk. “Relax. He wouldn’t remember it either. The Dark Lord and I intend to use a Memory Charm on one or both. . .whoever ends up involved.”

“The Dark Lord never mentioned Draco.”

“We can’t guarantee we catch Dagmar alone.” Bella lifted her chin. “We’ve planned for several scenarios. Isn’t that comforting?”

“Little about you is.” Stomach stewing with anger, Narcissa tried to focus on gathering ingredients for what she intended to cook. “But I trust the Dark Lord. He’s much more careful than _you’ll_ ever be. Don’t you go near my son.”

“Whatever.”

Bella left the kitchen with a huff. Her footsteps led to the foyer, and then upstairs.

Narcissa sniffed. “So dramatic. She’d _better_ leave Draco alone.”

“I think she will,” Wesley reassured her. “She’s just trying to get to you. She’d never hurt her nephew, especially not if the Dark Lord has no intention to allow for it.”

“I hope you’re right.”


	26. Rites of Passage

The pathway leading from Draco and Dagmar’s cottage to the hiking trail had turned gradually more colourful through the month of September. Draco tread it along with Dagmar, his fingers loose in hers. Every once in a while, Draco caught sight of Heimdall in the underbrush. He expected Heimdall would soon turn back. They were straying too far from the area considered his territory.

Sunshine came down in beams through the tree canopies. The odd leaf drifted toward the ground.

“I’m glad we’re getting some decent weather before winter,” Draco said.

“Before winter!” Dagmar scoffed. “We’re not even a week into autumn.”

“Does that really matter, this far north?”

“It’s not like we’re on Svalbard.”

“I guess. I’m just tired of being pissed on at work.”

Dagmar snickered and came closer again. She wrapped her free arm around Draco’s, her blue eyes bright as she admired him with a soft gaze. Draco’s heart fluttered with the merest hint of nerves for what he planned to do today.

“That’s why I’m so glad I work indoors,” Dagmar said as they turned onto the main walking path. “Every time I see it’s raining, I think of you—even if you’re not at work at the time.”

“You must think about me a lot.”

Dagmar’s smile turned sly, playful. “Ja.”

Draco thought about Dagmar a lot too. Work had changed dramatically for her in the last month. A lot of it was for the better. The clinic she participated in under Arne’s guidance in the maternity ward was going well, but it had consequences among her peers. On top of everything else that made Dagmar feel lonely, Draco wished that her classmates treated her a little better. They didn’t take well to her receiving perceived special treatment, even if Dagmar admitted that it kind of was. Frida at least kept out of that.

“I’m so sad you’re going back on evening shift.” Dagmar sighed. “It’s been nice being on the same schedule. I’m hoping to be home mid-afternoon tomorrow, though. We could have an early dinner together before you go, if you like.”

“Sure,” Draco agreed. “Yeah. . .evenings aren’t my favourite. I like the sleep-in and all, but it sucks not seeing each other for almost a week at a time. I actually didn’t mind nights at all once I adjusted. It was so nice and quiet.”

“I guess once I’m a certified Healer, we could both volunteer for night shifts and then always be guaranteed the same schedule,” Dagmar said. “Or do they always rotate up there?”

“Couldn’t tell you, honestly.”

“I wonder what I’ll even do as a Healer,” Dagmar mused. “I’ve been thinking about it now that I’m doing these Sunday clinics. They’re really catching on, hey? Turns out there’s a big market for expecting families to know what they’re expecting, as well as if baby’s healthy.”

“You can’t put a price on peace of mind,” Draco replied.

“I thought Arne would want to cap the number of participants since it’s just a weekly thing, but he seems to be of the opinion that the more the merrier.” Dagmar chuckled. “He’s going to advertise abroad, and apparently St. Mungo’s is one of his picks. I’m really curious if I’ll run into anyone we went to Hogwarts with.”

“Already?”

Dagmar shook her head. “Later on. I’m not sure I know of anyone in our year that was planning on having children this soon. My money’s on Daphne being the first one of us all. She said she hopes I’m still doing that clinic when she and Theo start trying, though I don’t think anything I could tell her has to be done at the hospital.”

“Unless there’s some kind of ethical thing about doing it elsewhere.”

“I don’t think so.” Dagmar squinted an eye as she thought. “It’s not like I’d be treating her. It isn’t something that requires any learned skill. I can just do it.”

“True enough.” Draco paused. “Can you do it on yourself?”

“Good question.” Eyeing Draco sideways, Dagmar nudged him again. “We’ll find out when the time comes for us.”

“You’ve never tried?” Draco asked. “Not feeling out a fetus, obviously, but just if you can sense your own heart rate.”

“Never occurred to me.” Dagmar brought them to a stop. “Hold on.”

Draco looked up and down the trail to ensure they were alone. There were a couple Muggles coming their way, but Dagmar had her back to them. They wouldn’t see how her expression slackened with concentration, or how her eyes brightened as the irises luminesced.

Dagmar smiled again as her eyes returned to their normal blue. “I can. That’ll be fun feeling for it. Nothing and then boom, one day there’s a heart beat.”

Draco’s own skipped. “And how does that work, showing the partner?”

“I’ll show you. Er—just a second.”

They waited for one of the Muggles to walk by. The man gave them a strange look, but carried on his way nonetheless. Dagmar took Draco’s hand then and placed it where she’d held it over her heart. Her hand stayed on top of his. A tingle passed through Draco’s hand before the barely-perceptible thump was amplified. Dagmar’s heart beat against Draco’s hand as clearly as if he held it.

Feeling a bit cheeky as the awe of it passed, Draco leaned in to kiss her. Dagmar’s heart picked up before gradually fading as Dagmar snorted. Draco had broken her concentration. Dagmar put her arms around Draco’s neck before he had a chance to move away, pulling him close again for a more proper snog. They tapered off since the next hiker passed by with a sniff of disapproval. Dagmar still grinned as she stayed close enough for her and Draco’s noses to touch.

“I love you,” she said.

“Love you too.”

Draco slipped his hand back into Dagmar’s as they carried on. He was trying to think of a way to segue into what he intended to do while on this walk, but drew a blank as his blood seemed to be present everywhere except for his brain.

They’d reached Storevatnet already. Dead leaves collected on the lake’s surface, dotting it orange and yellow. Draco turned them right at the fork so that they could stay close to the water.

“Can I ask you a weird question?” Draco said.

“You know how I feel about weird questions.”

Draco laughed—Dagmar loved them, the stranger the better. “Speaking of love. . .when did you know?”

“Know what?” Dagmar replied. “That I was in love with you?”

Draco nodded.

Dagmar hummed, her lips pressed. “I don’t know if there was a specific moment that I could pin down. It was kind of like an avalanche. Things shift, and then all of a sudden it’s a roar.”

“How did you know when to tell me you loved me, then?”

“I remember feeling almost. . .desperate.” Dagmar chuckled. “We’d just started shagging, and it was like nothing could work that feeling out of me. Looking back, I guess I was trying to tell you, just with my body instead of my mouth. Sometimes for the purpose it’s just better to say something.”

Draco bumped their shoulders. “I don’t know, I quite appreciated your enthusiasm.”

Dagmar tilted her head back as she laughed. “I don’t think that’s gone down at all.”

“Nah, I just mean specifically at the time. Not that what we do now isn’t special, but there _is_ something special about getting after it that first while.”

“So what about you, then?” Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand. “You must know when you were in love, if you’re asking.”

“I do,” Draco confirmed. “The first night we slept together. Like—in the same bed, not when we first shagged.”

“Oh, the day I came back from Nice.” Dagmar’s eyes lit up. “Herregud, I was so nervous about that. I wanted to ask so badly if I could stay for the night, but I was scared I was being clingy.”

“I was waiting for you to ask.” Draco chuckled. “Like come on, woman. Spit it out.”

“Oh, but what if we shagged and I wasn’t ready?” Dagmar asked with a dramatic flourish of her free arm. “I built that up _so_ much in my head. I made it into a way bigger deal than it ended up being. I think if I’d ever had sex before, that would’ve been the night. I was ready, just overthought it way too much.”

“I was quite content with the night as it was.” Draco shrugged, smile fond. “It definitely gave me a taste for a good snog before falling asleep. We set that habit early.”

“We sure did.”

“I woke up in the night,” Draco said. “Heimr jumped down from the windowsill or something. He settled in between us, and you were just so. . .I don’t know, everything was quiet and peaceful. I already thought you were stunning, but something definitely changed when you came back. Maybe because we hadn’t seen each other in so long? Back then, a few weeks was pretty much half the relationship.”

“I remember thinking that too,” Dagmar replied. “My heart just went crazy when you came over after I got home. I wasn’t in a good place after everything that had happened the night before, but it all went quiet when you were there.”

“Like relief.” Draco had felt the same way.

“Ja, exactly.”

“I’ve been thinking about that night a lot, lately,” Draco said. “I got woken up by the cat, and I was just laying awake looking at you two wondering how something so simple could be so good. Could it really _be_ this good? Things like that. I was grateful I got it at all, that I was given the opportunity to know you—that this could be every night for the rest of our lives.”

Draco was talking off the top of his head about it, but he figured bare truth would go a lot further than any of the things he’d rehearsed to himself for this situation. Dagmar was listening closely, suddenly serious. Draco wondered if he’d given himself away, but that was fine. This wasn’t by any means a surprise—the end-goal of marriage had started their relationship. It had been over three months ago now that Draco and Dagmar discussed their impending engagement. That had to be enough time for Dagmar to feel ready.

They slowed to a stop near the southern end of the lake. Dagmar was quiet to the point of making Draco nervous as he dug into his jacket pocket with his free hand. Dagmar’s gaze dropped to it, then her eyes widened before coming back up to Draco’s. She pulled herself out of Draco’s grasp as he eased himself down to one knee. Both hands covered her face. Draco was actually relieved that Dagmar needed a moment to collect herself, because he did too. Draco’s hands shook so hard from mingled anticipation and nerves that he fumbled to open the black box Dagmar had recognized.

Draco steadied himself along with her. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

Draco had barely gotten the words out. He also had a mere half-second to brace himself before Dagmar sprung forward to squeeze him. She sobbed against his shoulder, but it was a different noise than usual. Draco stood back up when Dagmar released him enough for it. Dagmar wiped her face, but she was grinning too. Draco kissed the side of her head as they had a proper hug.

“Thank god,” Draco breathed with an airy laugh. He had a feeling that if he let Dagmar go he might float away with how light he felt. “I knew you’d say yes, but. . .whew.”

Dagmar laughed, cutting it short with another sniffle. She held Draco’s face as she kissed him, trembling. Draco himself was still having a hard time catching his breath. His heart wouldn’t slow back down, even though the most stressful part of this whole thing was over. He fumbled again with the box so that Dagmar could actually put her engagement ring on. She admired it with a watery smile, then bent over with a hand on her chest again. Draco laughed as she tried to force all the emotion out of her with a rough exhale.

“I ought to try that, I think,” Draco said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Dagmar replied.

“And what’s that?”

Dagmar slipped her hand back into Draco’s, temporarily stilling his ability to breath. It was at least a short trip back to their cottage. Dagmar had apparated them straight into their bedroom—subtle, Draco thought with amusement. Dagmar pulled him close for a new snog, deeper and with clear intent.

They had a lot of emotional energy to burn off, and Dagmar was right that this was the best way to go about that. Draco was drained by the end of the day, and slightly buzzed off the bottle of brandy they’d finished. Draco was lucky he slept hard, because he woke up shortly after seven to Dagmar sliding a leg over his hips. Draco headed downstairs to make Dagmar coffee and something to eat while she washed up afterward.

“Aw, thank you, hjertet mitt,” Dagmar said when she took her mug. She kissed Draco with her arm around his middle, an exhale following. She grinned as she studied him. “Need to recuperate, or. . .?”

“Well, I’m definitely going back to bed for a little bit once you’re off.”

“I would’ve liked another lay-in.” Dagmar headed to her usual seat at the kitchen island. She admired her ring again. “Oh, I’m so happy. I can’t wait to show everyone.”

Draco couldn’t suppress a smile as his attention jumped back and forth between Dagmar and the eggs he scrambled. He actually thought turning her into his fiancée wouldn’t be this exciting, since they’d long known it was coming. Draco fetched the toast out of the oven and halved the scrambled eggs on top of each slice. He added smoked salmon and some chives before coming around the island. Rather than join Dagmar in sitting, Draco put his arms around her from behind and rested his head on her shoulder. He chuckled when she held up a piece of salmon for him. After swallowing it, Draco kissed behind Dagmar’s ear and then the palm of her hand when she reached up to caress his cheek.

“All right?” Dagmar asked.

Draco nuzzled her. “I’m just happy.”

He took his seat and ate his breakfast, feeling restless. That only got worse as Draco tailed Dagmar to the fireplace, although she was just as keen on a snog before she left. Thoughts of her followed Draco upstairs as he prepared to crawl back into bed. Daydreams about things like Dagmar in a white dress, or with a protruding belly, or the general sound of little pattering footsteps in the house put Draco’s sleep off.

He woke up again a little past noon. He and Dagmar had discussed dinner, but not what to have. Draco had half a mind just to pick something up in Trollmannsgaten. At the same time, he wanted to make something for Dagmar. He still didn’t really know what, when he stepped into the market. He looked around for ideas, deciding on reindeer steak and a slew of good-looking ground vegetables that had only been unearthed about an hour before Draco put them into his basket. He also picked up some fresh butter.

Draco started on the beets, potatoes, and carrots shortly before Dagmar was expected home. She found him in the kitchen. “Smells good already.”

“Thanks,” Draco said. “I guess it _is_ really early, but I wanted to eat with you anyway.”

“It’s okay.” Dagmar interrupted him long enough to kiss his cheek. “Why don’t you let me take over? You can go get ready for work.”

“You could change out of your uniform first so you don’t get anything on it,” Draco suggested.

Since nothing he worked on right now needed constant attention, Draco ended up following Dagmar upstairs. He was in the process of changing his shirt when Dagmar tsked while she studied herself in the mirror.

“I knew my cramps were bad, but herregud,” she said while rubbing her stomach. “Look at this. No wonder my uniform felt a little tight around the middle.”

Although her bloated abdomen wasn’t the same thing as Draco had daydreamed about earlier, he couldn’t help but stare.

Dagmar righted the top of her leggings to obscure her stomach. “What?”

Draco shrugged. “Oh, you know. . .now that we’re engaged, I think it’s only natural to start thinking about other things.”

“Ja,” Dagmar easily agreed, eviscerating what little shyness Draco had about breaching the topic. “I thought about it today too. Hard not to, when you’re surrounded by pregnant people. Then my cramps started, and I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to not have to deal with my period for nine months. Although, to be fair, pregnancy is no walk in the park either.”

“Does it make you nervous?”

“Nei,” Dagmar answered as she pulled one of Draco’s shirts over her head. Draco was tempted to grope at her breasts while they were still exposed, but he could tell both from experience and Dagmar’s demeanour that they were tender. Dagmar made a face and pulled the loose fabric away from them. “By the time we get in on that, I’ll be well-informed on what to expect. Once you have the baby, you literally forget how painful it is. That’s both comforting and terrifying, I guess. But Jorunn pointed out that since I’m taller, I’ll have some advantages. I’ll carry easier, have less stretch marks, things like that.”

“I can’t wait, honestly,” Draco admitted. “I will, obviously, but for me it’s all exciting.”

“Of course. You shag me and get rewarded with a child later on.”

“I’ll do all I can to help,” Draco said. “I was looking at my employment package. I get three months paid parental leave from the Ministry.”

“Oh, lovely.” Dagmar poked her tongue out playfully. “Guess that’s when we’ll see the benefits for how much higher the taxes are here than in Britain.”

Draco had grumbled about it since income and property rates were both much higher in Norway. “I guess for that it’s pretty much priceless.”

“Mhm.”

The vegetables were done boiling when Draco made it back to the kitchen. Dagmar set on preparing them all while Draco cut one of the steaks he’d prepped in half. They’d decided to eat only a half-dinner now, and then again once Draco got home. Dagmar planned to kip at some point in the evening so that she could stay up past midnight.

“Wouldn’t mind sneaking in one more shag either, before the crusade begins,” Dagmar joked.

They tried later, when Draco got home. Dagmar hadn’t started bleeding yet, but everything was so tender and sore that they ended up stopping. Dagmar took over making the second set of steaks while Draco brewed some of the tea that helped alleviate her symptoms.

Other than waking up briefly when Dagmar did, Draco prepared not to see her until past midnight for the day. He ran to the market for her again for the few things she needed to make kjøttkaker for dinner. They still had plenty of side stuff left. Draco headed to work thinking about it, having made matpakke to tide him over in the meantime. His thoughts of food left him when he stepped out of the fireplace into the main room of the reserve.

Everyone on Draco’s shift was there, as well as from the shift just ending. Some should be on days-off today. There were also some people Draco didn’t recognize, although their pristine robes and suits suggested Ministry.

Draco sidled up next to Alex and Leo at the back of the crowd. “Something going on?”

“It’s all under control now, but Rog escaped earlier today,” Alex told him. “He headed north, got as far as some Muggle towns.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “Did he hurt anyone? Any damage?”

“Nah.” Leo waved a hand. “I think Gunvor would look more stressed if that was the case. Lots saw him, couple dozen at least.”

A couple other dragonologists joined from outside, Big Swede amongst them. He nodded at Draco in greeting, although lacked his usual humour. He folded his arms when Gunvor held up her hand. Everyone fell immediately silent.

“So for those who aren’t aware, we had a minor incident today,” Gunvor told them all. “Rog got past the reserve boundaries and reached Muggle settlements before we were able to head him off. Clean-up shouldn’t be too terrible. These gentlemen here are from the Beast office, and these ones from the Ministry of Defence in the Muggle government.”

Draco craned a little more to better see the Muggles. They didn’t look too out of their element standing in a dragon reserve.

“They’ll all be heading up to Garmo and Tessand with the lot of you just coming on shift,” Gunvor continued. “We’ll have to act fast on memory modification so that news doesn’t spread to other towns. We’ve had to charm the phone lines in order to keep the population there from calling out, but there’s only so long until they realize they’re not actually talking to anyone real. Lars and Draco, I’ll see you separately.”

Interest piqued, Draco cut up through the crowd to join where Big Swede stood. Everyone else organized to leave in ten minutes by broom. The Muggles would be apparated back to their vehicles. Gunvor gestured Draco and Big Swede more to the side, where they might find some better quiet.

“I’ll leave the ward to you,” Gunvor told them. “My best guess is the one southwest of Tesse. That’s where Rog cut through. Please tell me it’s repairable.”

Draco nodded along with Big Swede, who clapped Gunvor on the shoulder before he jerked his head at Draco to follow. Draco fell into the brisk pace he usually had to when it came to keeping up with Big Swede’s longer strides.

“Wards?” Draco asked as they headed toward the back of the building.

“Relics from the druid days,” Big Swede explained. “They left them to us when the Ministry took over care of the dragon reserve. Big stone slabs, you can’t miss them if you know what you’re looking for.”

That didn’t really answer Draco’s question, although it gave him enough to run on. He’d noticed an invisible boundary surrounding the reserve, and often wondered what decided it.

“What did the druids do?” Draco asked.

“They have certain kinds of magic, see,” Big Swede explained. “Runs in their blood. They have their own set of runes as well, druidic runes. Some of these act as wards when set in a seal. Sometimes they just need a fresh run of dragon blood in the grooves. The Tesse one, though. . .that’s jotunn country.”

“Right.” Draco followed Big Swede into the map room. “Guess we should take Jormundr, then.”

Big Swede nodded. “Let’s take a quick look here and see what other wards we might check if the Tesse one is fine.”

The wards weren’t marked on the map, but Big Swede pointed them out to Draco. Thankfully, none of the other dragon miniatures flying around had seemed to notice. Rog had to be subdued since he tended to fixate and was a bad influence. He also didn’t like being put in the compound. Draco had learned that already when Rog needed to be treated for a broken tail after challenging Mozz to her territory at the summit of Galdhøpiggen.

Draco and Big Swede flew slow and close to the ground to accommodate Jormundr. They headed northeast, following the river Sjoa through the mountain valleys until they reached Smådalsvatni, the reserve’s northern border. Its waterway ran into the forest Big Swede led Draco down toward. They got off their brooms at the edge of it. Jormundr immediately stiffened once he hit the ground. He already smelled a jotunn if his training kicked in that quickly.

Draco sniffed the air as well as they headed into the forest, searching for the hint of anything beyond the smell of dead foliage. The ground crunched slightly under Draco’s feet. “So how come Gunvor picked us for this job? Any particular reason, or luck of the draw?”

“I actually got a little druid blood in me.” Big Swede chuckled. “Not much, just enough I can actually see the seals. My great-great-something grandmother left the nearest druid city, and that bloodline thins out over time. Takes seven generations. Me and my siblings will be the last ones in our family. None of our kids have any of the talents that come with it. I can’t speak Parseltongue, but my mum can. I couldn’t learn Druidic, unfortunately.”

“Dagmar’s mum is a full druid,” Draco told him.

“No shit, eh?” Big Swede looked down at Draco with raised eyebrows. “Dagmar’s first generation out?”

“We’re not really sure, actually.” Draco shrugged, a little hesitant to get this personal. “We don’t know who her dad is. Dagmar was born before her mum started living in regular wizarding society. We have a good suspicion on who her dad might have been if he was just a regular wizard, but I don’t know. Dagmar’s got some really strong abilities. Maybe if we could tell the difference between a full druid and then someone who’s just half, we’d know if her dad was a druid too.”

“What kind of abilities?”

“She speaks Parseltongue, but I’m not sure about Druidic. What’s that like?”

“Kinda funny.” Big Swede paused, thinking. “It’s a mix of Parseltongue and Avispråk—the language of birds. There’s all the hissing, and then clicking and whistling.”

“I’m pretty sure Dagmar would’ve mentioned being able to talk to birds by now. . .” Draco said.

“She wouldn’t have the innate ability if she’s a Parselmouth,” Big Swede replied. “You’re either one of the other. Druidic is a combination that all druids use for mutual understanding. It has to be learned, like Avispråk if you’re a Parselmouth, or the other way around.”

“How do you know all this?” Draco asked. “Dagmar’s mum won’t tell her anything about it. We figured that all druids were like that once they came out of the woods, so to speak.”

“Not mine.” Big Swede shrugged. “My mum, grandma, all the way up the chain, they all wanted us to know about our heritage. My kids know a bit, but I doubt they’ll pass anything about it on when they’ve got their own. They don’t really care because they don’t have any of the abilities. It’s meaningless to them.”

“Could _we_ find out more, though? I think it would mean a lot to Dagmar.”

Big Swede clapped Draco on the back, catapulting him forward enough to make him stumble. “I can tell you what I know, for sure.“

“You mentioned a city?”

“Ja, Leidfall. It’s inland from Umeå. The story goes that to get there, druids are naturally drawn to it. Can’t wear no metal in, they don’t like that. Once you reach the border, you’ll be greeted by white wolves—sentinels. You gotta bow as a sign of respect.”

Draco nodded again, filing that all away. He hadn’t expected Big Swede to be a source at all for information about Dagmar’s heritage. Draco had figured that he and Dagmar had gone as far as they could.

Big Swede gestured ahead. “Here we go.”

They approached a clearing. In the centre was an upright, rectangular stone. It had seen better days. It had chunks missing out of it, a couple of which interrupted the lines of nearly-blackened blood lining the stone’s etched crevices.

“Regular wear and tear?” Draco suggested. “The weather’s been awful.”

“Nej.” Big Swede rocked a massive tree limb laying nearby with his foot. “Batting practice.”

Big Swede struggled to move the limb with even both hands. Draco hated to imagine how big the jotunn that held it like a beater bat would’ve been.

“So what can we do?” Draco gathered up one of the bigger, intact pieces that had been broken off.

“Let’s see if a simple _reparo_ can do the trick. It very well might. The seal _is_ broken, I can tell. Usually the runes glow blue for me under the dragon blood.”

Draco nodded. “Jormundr, stand guard.”

Jormundr paced the edge of the clearing. Draco went to work, filling his arms with stone fragments and occasionally adding to the small pile he and Big Swede created in front of the ward. Once they’d gotten a decent amount, they started putting them back together like a puzzle. Every time a fragment fit, _reparo_ set it back in place. They were making good work, but the end of day was approaching. It fell dark even sooner than expected as the sun dipped behind the mountains to the west. The temperature dropped with it.

“Here.” Big Swede handed his wand over to Draco. “Use mine for some light.”

“’Kay.”

That was better, although Draco wasn’t sure about standing with his back to the dark woods. He kept his ears sharply attuned to the sniffing and groaning noises Jormundr made, while Big Swede parsed through their stone pile. Every once in a while, Draco glanced over his shoulder at the black forest just to make sure Jormundr did his job. The firedrakes were trained to recognize jotunn by smell, but had never actually encountered one yet in the wild.

“This should probably do it,” Big Swede said as he held up a couple small pieces for Draco to fix in place. “Damn, though. The runes are still inactive. I wonder if the seal needs to be more complete. We could be out here for days looking for one tiny speck of rock that some jotunn pulverized into dust.”

“Yeah.” Draco paused. “Don’t think Gunvor would like that.”

“Nej, she won’t. Rog isn’t going to hold in the compound forever. It isn’t fair to him, either.”

“What about redoing the seal?” Draco suggested. “Is it possible?”

“Ja, so long as your fiancée would be willing to help.” Big Swede winked at Draco. “I can see the seals, but can’t do nothing with them. Dagmar would be able to.”

“I can’t see her saying no if I asked.”

“Would you, then?” Big Swede grunted as he pushed himself up from the kneeled position he’d been in for the past several hours. “Damn, I’m stiff. I’m cold. I think we’ve about done all we can for now. Let’s get out of here.”

Draco mounted his broom beside Big Swede, and they kicked off. Twilight deepened to the point where the woods had remained dark. It wasn’t so bad once they were above the forest again. Draco flew around the reserve enough to have a solid bearing on where the station was. Its lights were welcoming as Draco and Big Swede came in to land.

They were the only ones back. Draco rewarded Jormundr for his work before he and Big Swede headed for the compound. Rog laid splayed on his stomach inside, the tip of his tongue pushed forward between his teeth. His second eyelids were half-closed while his primary ones remained open. He was conscious, but too doped up to do anything. Every exhale was a groan similar to a snore. Rog’s yard-long claws dug into the sand, leaving trenches where he had curled his feet.

“He doin’ all right?” Big Swede asked Sten, one of their coworkers.

“Probably chasing hippogriffs, given the twitching,” Sten replied. “What about the seal, then?”

Big Swede shook his head with a press of the lips. “We might have a solution, though. Did Gunvor say when she’d be back?”

“Nine.”

The other dragonologists had everything under control, so Draco and Big Swede headed back to the station for a proper break. Someone had made coffee in the staff room. It was old, but good enough to go with Draco’s dinner. He and Big Swede killed some time afterward by running training drills with the firedrakes. It was past nine, then. Draco and Big Swede headed back to the station. Sure enough, Gunvor was back. She looked tired from the long day. The Ministry and Muggle government officials were with her.

“I see Rog is still in the compound,” she commented.

“Seal’s broken, but with your go-ahead—and Draco’s fiancée’s agreement,” Big Swede glanced at Draco, “we could give an attempt tonight to fix it. Draco informs me Dagmar is either a full or half-blooded druid.”

Gunvor’s eyebrows leapt up. “Would she mind trying, Draco?”

“I don’t see why not, so long as she’s not up to her nose in homework.” Draco shrugged. “Should I run home and ask her?”

He got excited to see Dagmar earlier than expected when Gunvor said yes. Draco just hoped he hadn’t put Dagmar on the spot with it. He couldn’t see her protesting, although her heritage wasn’t something for him to bandy about or exploit on her behalf. For that, he got a little nervous as he flooed back home.

Dagmar was on the love seat under the throw, her feet covered by Heimdall and a book open across her lap. She looked past Draco at the clock. “You’re _way_ early. Everything all right?”

“Sort of.” Draco stayed by the fireplace. “I’m still on the clock. Long story short, we had a dragon get out of the reserve today. He’s back and everything’s good with that and all, but apparently there are wards around the reserve that the druids sealed before they handed control over to the Ministry. Big Swede and I checked the busted one, but we can’t fix it. I thought maybe you could try.

“You know, if you want to,” he added after a pause. “Full disclosure, Gunvor and Big Swede know you probably could do it. Big Swede told me he’s got some druid blood in him too—not enough to fix the seal—”

“Draco.” Dagmar closed her book. “I’ll come. Just let me get dressed.”

“‘Kay.” Well, that was easy. “Dress warm. It’s chilly up there tonight.”

“Did you want me to grab you an extra layer from upstairs?”

“You know what, yeah.”

Dagmar came by Draco close enough to squeeze his arm in passing. She fixed her ponytail on the way back downstairs. She slipped some boots on. “Meet you there?”

“Yep.”

Draco went first. Gunvor and Big Swede were alone in the station. “She’s right behind me.”

Dagmar popped in a moment later. She smiled at Big Swede since they’d met before, but waved shyly at Gunvor. “Hallo.”

“Gunvor, Dagmar,” Draco introduced them. “Dagmar, Gunvor.”

“Charmed,” Gunvor said as they shook hands. “Is this something you’ve done before, then?”

“Nei.” Dagmar glanced at Draco. “I’m willing to try, though.”

“I can walk you through it a bit.” Big Swede winked at her. “I know enough for us to maybe stumble upon a solution. We’ll probably need some fresh dragon blood. Seeing as Rog is tied down at the moment. . .”

Draco placed his hand briefly between Dagmar’s shoulders as a quiet invitation for her to come along. Her eyes widened inside the compound. Rog wasn’t like Hyperion, the only other dragon Dagmar had ever seen here. Even though Rog was sedated, he was pissed off. Draco’s heart picked up as Big Swede along with a couple other senior dragonologists gathered around Rog’s nearest foot. One lit her wand so that they could better see the breaks in the black scales, where they might find a vein. One swipe of those claws, and it wouldn’t matter that a Healer stood fifty feet away from them.

“This is the one that broke out?” Dagmar whispered to Draco.

He nodded. “Rog.”

Dagmar scoffed, having heard many stories about him from Draco. “Who else, hey?”

Draco took her hand to briefly squeeze. He ended up holding onto it as they watched the dragonologists draw a vial of blood. Draco released all the tension in his shoulders on an exhale when Big Swede came back over to them.

“All set,” Big Swede said. “Should we head up?”

Draco hadn’t thought far enough ahead on how Dagmar was going to fly. When Gunvor offered to lend Dagmar one of the reserve’s spare Firebolts, she hesitated.

“You could just ride with me, if you’d rather,” Draco offered. “It’s probably too dark to learn a new broom anyway.”

“Okay,” Dagmar quickly agreed.

Draco grabbed his Firebolt out of his locker along with Big Swede, while Gunvor carried hers. They fetched Jormundr, who grew serious when he realized he got to work again. Draco mounted his broom and then let Dagmar get comfortable behind him. He wouldn’t lie that he enjoyed how tightly Dagmar held onto him, even if it was because she was nervous.

They flew even slower this time since Draco had a passenger. Past nine-thirty now, night had settled completely. Light didn’t even reflect off Tesse anymore. Draco relied on Big Swede and Gunvor to land them in the proper place. He followed their tails, coming down again at what looked like nearly the same place Draco and Big Swede had.

Dagmar nodded and pulled her wand out when Big Swede and Gunvor gave her the rundown about how to watch for jotunn. As they walked the path, wands lit, Jormundr let out a long, low growl. Draco inhaled sharply when the wind changed and he caught a whiff of something similar to open sewer. Another shift in the wind, and it was gone. Jormundr remained on guard.

“One’s nearby,” Draco said. “Due west.”

“I smelled it too,” Gunvor said.

Draco glanced at Dagmar, but she didn’t look too nervous about it. The four of them plus Jormundr could easily fend one off. Draco just hoped it was actually alone, otherwise that might get testy.

They came up on the clearing with the ward stone. No jotunn had come by since Draco and Big Swede left. The tree limb still laid where Big Swede had moved it away from the stone. If it had shifted, that was a good sign something had passed through. Jotunn could never pass up a chance to inspect a potential new hitting stick.

Dagmar studied the stone when they all stood in front of it. “Well, I see the markings.”

She ran her fingers over one that remained invisible to Draco.

Big Swede stepped up. “They’re supposed to glow blue to us, even in the dark.”

“So what should I do, then?”

“Well,” Big Swede fished the vial of dragon blood out of the pouch he’d put it in, “usually all I have to do is spread the blood in the carved notches. It’s the druidic blood itself that activates the dragon blood, so to speak. You’ll see, it turns almost gold once you touch it.”

“Okay.”

Big Swede unstopped the vial and handed it over. Dagmar tilted it so that her finger could reach it. Right away, Draco noticed a change. It was like the plasma had just separated, although the colour was prevalent through the entire sample. Dagmar brought some of it out and followed the grooves on the stone by Big Swede’s instruction.

“This is usually the point _I_ can see the runes,” Gunvor told Draco.

Draco nodded. He started to feel the pressure for Dagmar to figure this out, because what would happen if she couldn’t? They were very lucky to know a druid still close enough to their roots to be able to perform any sort of work on the seal. If they didn’t, maybe they would’ve had to go all the way to Leidfall for someone that could fix it. They couldn’t have dragons roaming the country—that was for sure. Not if the same department in the Muggle government responsible for the military had already become involved.

Dagmar finished replenishing the dragon blood. Still, nothing happened.

“This is as far as I could get you, not that I expected anything since the seal’s gone dark.” Big Swede shrugged. “Any ideas?”

“Mm, maybe,” Dagmar said. “I’ll give something a shot.”

Big Swede joined Draco and Gunvor where they stood. Dagmar’s shoulders rose and fell a couple times on the long breaths she drew, slipping into concentration. She lifted a hand to the stone again. Blue light followed her fingers as she traced something out. The first rune stayed illuminated as Dagmar moved onto the second one. These weren’t any that Draco had ever learned back in Ancient Runes class.

The runes were written in a circle. Dagmar hesitated after finishing the last one, then pressed the palm of her hand at the centre. Something rose from the ground, caught in the light. They were rocks—the ones that Draco and Big Swede had been unable to find. They floated toward the stone and situated in their places. Once the last one managed, two lines enclosed the runes. Something invisible passed through Draco that reminded him of when Dumbledore set the Fidelius Charm over his and Dagmar’s manors.

Dagmar turned around. “That did it?”

“It did,” Gunvor confirmed with a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I was _not_ looking forward to dealing with Rog in the morning after he’s been in the compound all night. We can release him when we get back to the station.”

With the job finished, Dagmar rode with Draco again. Coming up on ten o’clock now, everyone that had gone to Garmo and Tessand returned as well. They all sat in the station’s main room on the couches, various degrees of melted with long faces. They sat up straighter, their expressions clearing when they spotted Gunvor.

“How’d things go with you all?” Gunvor asked.

“Good,” Hanna spoke for them. “We found everyone that said they’d seen the dragons and modified their memories. They were quite happy to tell us what they saw. The Muggle government workers are reestablishing the phone lines and stuff now.”

“Perfect. That concludes everything, then.” Gunvor covered her mouth as she suppressed a yawn. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. I’m out of here.”

They all laughed. Gunvor detoured to where Draco and Dagmar stood on her way to the fireplace. “Thanks again, Dagmar. You have no idea how much work you saved us.”

Dagmar beamed. “Anytime.”

“Might hold you to that,” Gunvor joked.

She left. Dagmar turned to Draco. “I suppose I should let you get back to it. See you at midnight?”

Draco nodded, touching her elbow. “I don’t see any reason I might be late now.”

“All right.”

Dagmar said hello in passing to the few coworkers of Draco’s that she knew before following Gunvor into the fireplace. After all that excitement for the day, Draco was more than content to follow the crowd out to the compound. Rog would be weened off the sedative potions and then released.

Leo fell in-step beside Draco and Alex. “Either of you wanna bet what Rog is going to do as soon as he’s up and at it?”

“Why would I willingly lose money by saying anything other than checking for the breach?” Alex replied before looking at Draco. “What was Dagmar doing here?”

“Helping.” Draco shrugged. “She’s good with wards and stuff.”

That excuse was good enough for them. Alex and Leo were more than happy to recount to Draco their experience with the Muggles whose memories they’d modified. The Muggles were very keen to share and then speculate on what exactly had brought a dragon to their midst. Some thought it was a dinosaur (which wasn’t too far off-base, Draco supposed) and the more religious Muggles were very keen to deem it a sign of the end of times.

The three of them entertained the firedrakes for a little while. Coming up on eleven-thirty, Draco worried he might miss Rog’s release if it didn’t happen soon. They got waved over to the compound at quarter to midnight, since it was clear Rog was getting more agitated. They all opened up the roof while the senior dragonologists undid the binds holding Rog in place. Rog sat up on his haunches. He was still groggy. His wings opened with a deafening flourish, and the wind pushed Draco back as Rog propelled himself upward. With a scream that sounded like a sense of victory, Rog was gone into the night.


	27. Trondheim and Croydon

Upon first arrival in Trondheim through the floo network, Harry and Parasca met up with Marit and her husband Ødger at an inn. Marit had borrowed some more detailed maps of the region’s waterways from fellow boaters.

They had a lot to cover. Trondheimsfjorden was almost a hundred miles long, and then over fifteen miles across at its widest. There were also multiple fjord arms jutting off. Marit and Ødger had covered from Beitstadfjorden to the island Ytterøya, based on the majority of stories they heard about Fantomøy’s location. Although Harry debated going over that area again by air, he and Parasca ultimately decided against it unless they reached the Norwegian Sea with no luck.

It was way more than they could do within a week, but Harry and Parasca were going to try. Marit and Ødger were kind enough to offer a hitch onto their houseboat if Harry and Parasca rented a sleeping module. The module had two bedrooms and a small bathroom.

They connected it at Trondheim’s wizarding hub, which was located on a heavily wooded peninsula seven miles down the river Nidelva. From the river mouth, it was another twenty-eight miles to their chosen starting place. It would take Marit and Ødger’s houseboat about six hours to get there, but they encouraged Harry and Parasca to go ahead by broom. They could all meet up again later.

Harry and Parasca had decided that they wouldn’t write any place off. It could be that Fantomøy had changed since Hildegard’s departure and turned back into a normal island. Harry spotted an island that looked promising to the east of Ytterøya. There were a few houses on it. Neither looked like Hildegard’s old house, though. They were both only one floor, and Harry knew Hildegard’s to have an upstairs.

A handful of other islands dotted the area. Harry was hungry and sore by the time he and Parasca spotted Marit and Ødger’s boat. They’d dropped anchor and fished for the last few hours that Harry and Parasca worked. Harry took the shower first in his and Parasca’s module, then laid down in his room to relax for a while before dinner.

 _That was a long day_ , he wrote in the messenger he shared with Pansy. _Not bad necessarily, but we’ve got our work cut out for us._

Pansy surprised Harry by replying nearly right away: _Lots to do?_

_Lots of ground to cover. I like flying and all that, but let’s just say the handle isn’t too kind on the arse after a few hours._

_Aw._

_It’s kind of weird not being able to meet up for dinner. The people we’re staying with are making us something, but I feel like I have somewhere else I need to be._

_I know, same here. I’m having a dreadfully dull evening with my parents. Ho hum._

Harry didn’t have much more chance to chat with Pansy before he and Parasca joined Marit and Ødger in the boat’s main cabin. They’d thankfully fried up a decent amount of the salmon they caught, since Harry was starving. He would’ve felt bad about how much he ate if Marit didn’t keep insisting. Harry kept his plate with him and poked at his fish and potatoes while they marked off the islands he and Parasca had checked.

They fell into a routine with it, Marit and Ødger trolling along back toward Trondheim, while Harry and Parasca did their work. Ødger directed them to the next place to check once they could strike another one off, and Marit did the supportive work of keeping hot meals available when needed. The evenings were left open to wind down in, since the sun set around half past seven. Playing cards were a popular choice of entertainment after dinner, and then Harry would bow out to have a few words with Pansy before bed.

 _So I have news,_ Pansy told Harry on Wednesday.

_What’s that?_

_I decided it’s time to get my own place,_ Pansy wrote. _I forgot how annoying my parents can be. They still treat me like a child. I’d rather go my own way, I think._

 _Won’t lie, being independent is pretty nice,_ Harry replied.

_I haven’t told my parents yet. I probably won’t until I’m ready to go just to avoid the drama. Will you help me look at places this weekend if I set up some viewings?_

Harry got home late Friday night, but not so late that he’d pass up a nightcap with Pansy. She met him in a deserted Diagon Alley. Harry was happy nobody was around so that he didn’t have to worry about an audience while they greeted each other. Throughout all the snogging, Harry privately wished Pansy had her own place already. Nobody they knew was in the Leaky Cauldron, at least. Saying goodbye to Pansy even just for the night sucked, and Harry didn’t quite know what to do with himself other than sleep on Saturday while she worked. Harry found he missed the rock of the boat.

He headed to Diagon Alley shortly before Pansy was due to get off work. They ventured toward the housing company Pansy had chosen to deal with as a mediator. Something Pansy said made Harry’s brow furrow.

“You’re buying?” he asked. “I thought you just intended to rent.”

“I don’t think I ever said that.”

“Hm.” Harry had just assumed, he supposed. “Not that it’s my business, I guess, but you can afford it?”

“I have enough for a small flat,” Pansy said. “My parents set aside a couple hundred galleons a year after I was born. They gave it all to me after we finished at Hogwarts. I looked into living expenses and everything, and if I buy outright then I’ll be more than comfortable with what I make at work.”

“There you go.”

“Not that we have to right now—” Pansy nudged Harry as they came up on the housing office, “but if we’re going to get serious, we might as well talk about money soon. Doesn’t hurt to know how the other one is sitting on that, right?”

“Not at all, but I think we’re in a similar boat.” Harry squeezed Pansy’s hand. “So long as neither of us are hurting, that’s all that matters. Right?”

“At this point, yeah.”

The agent Pansy had met with Wednesday spent Thursday and Friday coming up with a list that fit the requirements Pansy gave her. She’d narrowed the choices down to five. All of them were similar in appearance and layout, and none had issues. Pansy was a little torn at the end of the tour on how she’d pick.

She nudged Harry at dinner. “What area do _you_ live in?”

“Islington.”

Pansy referred to the map of Greater London the agent had given her. “Where’s that?”

It was too close to central London for any of Pansy’s choices to be nearby. She pursed her lips and then gave up when their food arrived. She decided to think about it, maybe do some exploring of the areas during the evenings that week. Harry was concerned about her going alone, but Pansy wouldn’t hear about it.

It was a source of stress as Harry headed back to Trondheim on Monday. Every evening when he reached out to Pansy through the messenger, he braced for the possibility that she might not reply. She always did, and only had good things to say.

Harry got home early enough the following Friday to catch Pansy at work at the end of her day. She seemed fine, beaming and otherwise bubbly as she put her arms around Harry’s middle and invited herself against him in greeting. Harry let his concerns go with that. It was hard to feel anything negative at all when Pansy stood up on the tips of her toes to better snog him.

“So guess what,” Pansy said when she pulled back.

“What?” Harry settled into a content smile.

“I’ll show you.”

Pansy pat Harry’s chest before slipping out of his arms. Harry followed her over to where she’d been sitting. Pansy had a pile of parchment, the top of which was a title deed.

“I signed it this afternoon!” she said.

“Hey, congrats.” Pansy’s excitement flushed her face, distracting Harry from looking any further beyond the first page. “Which one did you pick?”

“The one in Croydon.” Pansy took her parchment back. “It had the bonus room. I figured I could put all my fabrics and stuff in there.”

Harry tried to recall which one that had been. “The flat had a balcony, right?”

“Yeah, a big one with the second door coming off the bedroom.” Pansy hugged him again. “I have to work a little late because the appointment cut into my afternoon, but we could go there afterward.”

“Sure,” Harry easily agreed. “I’ll pick up the dinner tab tonight, even if it’s your turn. A bit of celebration’s in order, isn’t it?”

Pansy snickered. “I’ve also already spent a _lot_ of money today, so I won’t lie. I’m not keen to spend anymore.”

“I bet.” Harry took his usual seat. “Still, I’m sure anyone would tell you that property is always a good investment.”

“Yep,” Pansy chirped as she went back to work. “I have a feeling my parents won’t agree, but whatever.”

Harry studied Pansy. “You don’t think so?”

Pansy shrugged. “I think my father will say I should’ve saved my money. I don’t know what else for. Him and Mum said when they gave me the money that it was to get me started in life. Doesn’t that mean buying a home?

“I took them off my bank account while I was at Gringotts anyway,” Pansy said. “Not that I think they’d do anything, but my parents do get a little funny sometimes when I try to do my own thing.”

“You think they’d try to do something with your money?”

“No,” Pansy said a little too quickly. “I just don’t want to have to worry about the possibility. You know what I mean?”

“Sure.”

Harry thought it strange, but he didn’t want to push the topic. Maybe if Harry didn’t have experience with controlling family, he wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Pansy was in a good mood, though. If something was going on at home, she was making her way out of it. Harry himself hated it when people pushed him to talk about things, so he certainly wouldn’t do it to her.

Pansy received an owl from the floo department at the Ministry stating that her application for the flat to be added to the network had been processed. Harry encouraged Pansy to pick whatever she wanted to eat for dinner, and they made a quick stop in Diagon Alley’s liquor shop for something to cap the evening with.

Harry followed by floo, carrying the pizza Pansy had chosen while she took their drinks. He stepped out into the familiar living room with the kitchen to the right. Pansy was already over there, unpacking the champagne she’d picked from the brown bag. One end of the counter jutted out from the wall and was set down lower for the purpose of replacing a table. Harry set the pizza there.

“I remember this place now,” he said as he looked around. “I thought it funny it had electrical outlets. I wonder if they still work.”

“What’re those?” Pansy asked.

Harry pointed at the one beside the table. “It’s for Muggles to plug things into. Lamps and stuff, so they can have light.”

Pansy hummed. “How could we find out?”

“Could always stick a fork in there.”

“I don’t think there’s any here.” Pansy opened a couple drawers, but stopped when Harry laughed.

“Do not do that,” Harry said when she looked at him.

Pansy’s eyes narrowed, her lips bunched together. She left the champagne by the range and came around the table. “Funny.”

“I like to think so, sometimes.”

She snorted with a shake of her head as Harry bent down to kiss her. The flat had been echoey while they talked, and now it sounded oppressively quiet spare the soft smack of their lips. Pansy gravitated closer until their torsos pressed. She rubbed Harry’s hip and held herself against him when they broke apart. Harry pressed swollen lips against Pansy’s forehead.

“It’s going to be nice to have some privacy if we want it,” Pansy said. “I like going out and all that, but. . .you know. Variety.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I don’t always feel right sneaking a little something in the back of the shop, either.”

Pansy chuckled. “I think it’s so sweet how shy you are.”

“I’m working on coming out of it a little bit,” Harry said with a shrug.

“I know.” Pansy leaned up for a peck. “It’s sweet.”

The lack of furniture in the flat meant nowhere to sit, so Harry put the pizza box up on the counter by the champagne. He and Pansy sat on the table while they ate and drank with the occasional snog. Harry had to start holding back because he didn’t want to get carried away. Pansy might find it endearing that Harry was so reserved, but Harry was a little frustrated and torn with himself.

While scouting Trondheimsfjorden, Harry’s mind wandered frequently to where this relationship might be heading. Harry didn’t want to say he was ignorant about sex, but he was. That ignorance was intentional. Harry never let it concern him because any kind of need was a potential weapon.

Coming away from that detachment was a slow process. Maybe if Pansy had more than an empty flat, Harry would have the courage to make some kind of move. Pansy wasn’t shy when they’d touched on the topic, so Harry didn’t know why he was so hesitant to bring it up again. Maybe, despite his progress, Harry still just wasn’t ready for _that_ degree of intimacy with another human being.

Monday and Tuesday were nice in Trondheim, but Wednesday was miserable. It rained and barely climbed over five degrees in temperature. By mid-afternoon, Harry had no choice but to suggest to Parasca that they call it early and see if maybe tomorrow was nicer. He could see his breath, the rain was starting to sharpen, and all his limbs had lost feeling. A hot shower helped bring back some of Harry’s body heat, but far from all of it. He crawled in underneath the three piled comforters lent to him by Marit and Ødger.

 _Called it early today,_ he wrote to Pansy. _It’s so cold here. Nearly freezing and raining. I can’t believe it’s not snowing instead._

Harry closed his eyes afterward and ended up having a short kip. His messenger was still open on the bed beside him. Pansy had responded: _Too bad. You at least got some stuff done today, right?_

 _Yeah, it wasn’t a total waste,_ Harry replied. _We made progress…I think. I’d call real progress finding what we’re looking for._

Pansy came back quickly. _True enough._

Harry checked his watch. It wasn’t past four in Trondheim, so it was only three in London. _Aren’t you at work?_

 _It’s slow_ , Pansy said. _I check once in a while too to see if you had a chance to write. I know you’re busy, but…you know. I miss you._

The warmth that eluded Harry all day came from inside rather than outside. Harry hid his smile briefly against the comforter before he responded. _I miss you too. How’s the move going? I wish I could help._

_It’s going. Don’t worry, I’m saving the fun stuff for the weekends. Gleazy’s helping me for now, just slowly moving my personal things over. I haven’t got any furniture yet or anything. I’m still sleeping in my old room until I’m ready to get Gleazy to apparate my bed._

_Think your parents are going to flip?_ Harry asked.

 _Yeah._ Pansy’s writing grew neater. _I’d just rather not have anything they might hold over me. I have to tell them eventually, I guess. It feels really impersonal just to leave a note._

Harry frowned as he read that over a couple times. _Are things really that bad between you and them?_

_They just don’t like me doing things they don’t approve of._

_Hm._

_So what else is new?_ Pansy changed the topic.

Harry debated holding the conversation steady, but ultimately crossed out what he had to say about it. Pansy was getting closer to being open with Harry about her parents, and Harry couldn’t exactly prod without opening himself to that about the Dursleys. A couple times when Harry mentioned Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, he’d noticed that Pansy got a little more keen.

 _Nothing really,_ Harry said, then hesitated. He carried on, writing in that same deliberate way that Pansy had. _Kind of been thinking about something lately._

_What’s that?_

Harry tried to think of a way to answer without being completely blunt. He couldn’t. Cheeks burning and heart pounding, he put down one word: _Sex_

 _What about it?_ As Harry expected, Pansy didn’t share his reticence at all. _Do you want to have it?_

 _Yes, but—_ It took a couple attempts at organizing his thoughts before Harry finished his response. _Yes, but I have no experience with it. I guess you know that already. It’s kind of embarrassing. I don’t know what to do, don’t know what to expect, any of that. Never seen a woman naked. That kind of stuff._

Watching the messenger for Pansy’s reply was agonizing. Harry’s heart wouldn’t slow down. He doubted Pansy was having a laugh on his behalf, but how she reacted was really important to him.

For such an important topic and a long delay, Pansy didn’t send along a lot of words: _That’s okay, we all start somewhere. I’ll be more than happy to walk you through it when the time comes._

 _Okay,_ Harry wrote. _I’m hoping I should catch on fast._

He was glad that Pansy was casual about it. It helped to emphasize the point she made next: _I think you will. It’s really not hard in any sense of the word (except one…haha) and so long as you’re into it it’s good. It’s instinct. Having sex isn’t a big deal at all, but I’ll go ahead and say the sex itself can be. That’s all there really is to prepare for. Just don’t worry about things like how to touch me or what to do or things like if you cum quickly or even if you get nervous and have trouble staying hard. It’ll all work out._

Harry sat up in his bed, moving the messenger to his lap instead. He did have some performance anxiety about this. He’d realized a few years ago already that his emotional state was very tightly tied to his sexuality. Harry and Pansy had talked about that a little the one day, and Harry was relieved that Pansy seemed prepared for if something went wrong.

 _If I’m nervous or whatever I just don’t want you to take it personally,_ Harry replied. _I tend to get inside my head and once I’m there…yeah._

_If we start messing around and you’re not into it, we can stop. It’s not a big deal. There’s also a lot of variety on what to do…it’s not like we have to shag the first time. Or even for the first while. We just do what feels right to us and that’s it._

_Okay,_ Harry said. _That makes me feel better._

_Good!_

The little smiley face Pansy drew with a heart next to it helped cheer Harry as well. He felt a little deprived of affection on this side of the conversation. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

With it, so had October. It hit Trondheim hard, to the point where Thursday and Friday were unbearably cold. Harry and Parasca pushed themselves to reach the end of Trondheimsfjorden. Harry grew temporarily excited that maybe, since the Norwegian Sea was in their sights, they had to be closing in on Fantomøy. As Harry and Parasca landed for the final time on Marit and Ødger’s houseboat, the outcome was disappointing.

Marit took it the same way. “Well. . .thank you anyway for trying so hard. We’ll probably still keep looking. I’ll send you an owl if anything changes?”

“Please do.” Harry extended his hand to shake her and Ødger’s. “You’re sure you don’t want any help getting the module back to the village?”

“Nei, don’t worry about that.” Marit chuckled. “We’ll just slowly make our way back. So long as it’s all paid up, it’s just a matter of dropping it off.”

Harry and Parasca had to go there anyway in order to get home, so Harry double-checked there was no remaining balance. Closing the door on Trondheim didn’t come with as much relief as Harry expected. Yes, he was tired, sore, cold, and missed his friends and girlfriend, but he wanted these three weeks spent searching to be worth something in the end.

“Hildegard must’ve put some kind of charm over it,” was the conclusion that Parasca reached as well. “A Fidelius, or something.”

“Yeah.” Harry still thought it strange that when they asked, Hildegard said she couldn’t remember where exactly Fantomøy was. He wondered if that had disappeared in her mind the same way Bjorn had, for Dagmar’s sake. Grief did strange things to a person. “So where do we go from here?”

Parasca hummed. It was still early in the afternoon, and they had a couple hours left to kill once they made it back to the office. “You know, let’s do up our reports and worry about that come Monday. I think we’ve both earned a weekend to relax.”

“I’d appreciate regaining feeling in my fingers before we figure out our next move too.”

Parasca laughed. “Da. . .that too.”

Harry made a detour to Grimmauld Place to drop all his things off and have a hot shower. After three weeks of wearing plain clothes while abroad, it felt weird to Harry to put his suit on. He still needed to mentally transition.

Coming to the Ministry by floo and heading for the lifts did it. Parasca had beat Harry there, her hair similarly wet.

“Kingsley came by,” Parasca told Harry. “I left the field file for you to close with him.”

“‘Kay.” Harry picked it up off his desk. “I’ll be right back.”

Kingsley’s office door was open, and he was alone. Harry knocked on the door to announce himself. Kingsley waved him in.

“I guess we’re done in Trondheim,” Harry said as he held the parchment out to Kingsley. “Nothing, but Marit and Ødger are going to keep looking. I don’t see much point. . .I get why they would, though.”

“Yeah.” Kingsley sighed. “Still, it’s not for nothing. We can cross it off the lead list. Fidelius Charm, do you figure?”

“If not that, something similar.” Harry shrugged. “I assume you would’ve told us, but nothing new from Hildegard, hey?”

Kingsley shook his head. “Still doesn’t remember where the island is.”

“I guess it’s maybe not that important,” Harry said. “If the locket was there. . .yeah. But it’s just been abandoned for fifteen years. Who else would know about Fantomøy?”

Saying that aloud on this side of looking for it got Harry thinking.

“Voldemort would know.” Harry sat down in one of the chairs in front of Kingsley. “He had to have been there before, when him and Hildegard first made the phylactery. Is it much of a stretch that when he was looking for the locket, he went back there?”

“If he did, then Hildegard would’ve had to tell him where it is.” Kingsley narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Obviously we can’t track Voldemort down to ask him.”

Harry laughed before continuing on. “I’m just thinking. . .we figure Voldemort left the country. He’s hiding somewhere. Where else would be better than that?”

“Provided he knows where it is,” Kingsley said. “I’ll say that my faith in Hildegard telling us the complete truth is pretty close to nil. Thing is, if she’s lying about the island’s whereabouts, we have to entertain the possibility that she’s also lying about the locket.”

That didn’t sit well with Harry. He mulled it over with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“We can corroborate some things,” Harry said. “Marit had no reason to lie to us about Fantomøy. There’s definitely an island somewhere in Trondheimsfjord that Hildegard used to call home. Hildegard definitely had two children, one of which is gone. I’ve also been thinking. . .it’s doubtful Voldemort really believes in the idea of a pureblood-led wizarding society, but he draws that crowd. The sense I’m getting from what I know about druids is that they have a similar kind of belief about blood. They don’t act like Voldemort and try to take over, they just don’t interact with people they consider lesser or different. Hildegard told me she doesn’t have family because of wizards. There’s space there for her to have grown resentful. It might have pushed her toward Voldemort. If druids inherently don’t trust regular wizards, she would be comfortable with someone that she thinks is trying to create some kind of order in that.”

“Sure.” Kingsley nodded. “What about it?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out where exactly Hildegard’s loyalty is. Her primary concern is herself. She wanted protection—maybe some kind of revenge—so she went to Voldemort and offered him immortality. We know this happened because we’ve seen it for ourselves. Voldemort should’ve died after trying to off me, but he didn’t. He came back.

“I think Hildegard was honest when I talked to her,” Harry said. “She wants out of Azkaban, bad enough that she would off herself given the chance. Not that I know _this_ much about druids, but they’re all about nature, right? There’s nothing natural about Azkaban. It’s a rock and metal box. She would throw Voldemort under the bus to get out. Being sedated like she is. . .that’s no way to live.”

“No,” Kingsley agreed with a slight grimace. “In a way, she’s got it better than all the other prisoners. She doesn’t have to be aware of where she is and how much time is passing. It’s still awful, though. I just wish the fear of Azkaban was enough to keep her out of there in the first place. I wish that for all of the prisoners.”

Harry nodded. “So I think there is a locket. We just need a new starting point on finding Magnus. Or. . .try to find Voldemort instead. If he comes back again, we know we have a locket to find. If he doesn’t. . .it’s over.”

“That’s a long time to wait to find out.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “Another decade. But it would be a peaceful one. If we round up his inner circle again, we could keep putting it off.”

“I have all the Head Aurors in Europe on alert for any kind of Death Eater activity,” Kingsley told him. “Disappearances, strange deaths. . .you know. If I get anything, I’ll pass it right on to you. What’re you and Parasca doing in the meantime? Still looking for Norheim?”

“Guess so.” Harry shrugged. “We need something to do. I might make contact with Malfoy, see if they have anything going on up there. I haven’t talked to them in a while.”

“Sounds good.”

With that, Harry headed back to his desk. It felt like a productive conversation, but that he was missing something. Harry figured he would always feel like that until Voldemort was either confirmed to be gone, or Harry had the locket in his hand intent to destroy it.

Harry started his afternoon by updating his notes. He wished he had more to put there, although was still hung on the idea Voldemort might be using Fantomøy as a hideout. There was a slight problem with that, though. If Voldemort was on Fantomøy, then he would’ve seen Harry flying around Trondheimsfjorden. Even if Voldemort was too weak to take the opportunity, he had Bellatrix Lestrange and possibly three other unknown Death Eaters with him. Bellatrix Lestrange would’ve happily ambushed Marit and Ødger’s boat in the middle of the night to bring Harry to Voldemort.

After adding that to his notes, Harry brought out the other messengers in his desk. He cast a side-glance at Parasca before opening Pansy’s first. She wanted to know if they could meet in Diagon Alley when they were off work so that she could do some shopping. Harry agreed, telling her he’d be there shortly after five.

Harry didn’t expect there to be anything in the messenger he shared with Malfoy and Dagmar. Harry’s brow dropped as he read: _Hey Potter, Draco here. Might have something interesting for you. To make a long story short, I learned yesterday from a coworker that there’s a druid city in northern Sweden. Hope all’s going well otherwise._

Harry read it again, then glanced at Parasca. “Hey, Malfoy wrote me while we were gone. He found something out about a druid city.”

“What about it?” Parasca turned her chair toward Harry.

“He doesn’t say much more than that. Just heard about it from a coworker.” Harry passed the messenger to her so that she could read it. “Think it could be helpful?”

“Potentially.” Parasca rubbed her chin. “Most of our leads come from strange places. It’s also not as if we have a lot else to go on right now.”

 _Hopefully you didn’t write this too long ago,_ Harry started with. _Sorry, I was actually abroad the last 3 weeks. What did you learn about this city?_

Harry kept the messenger open while he replied to Pansy’s last message. He was satisfied that a new response appeared from Malfoy: _No worries, I only wrote that on Tuesday. We had an issue at work with one of our wards. They act like a fence for the dragons, and my boss sent me and my mentor to look at it because my mentor has a little bit of druid blood in him. His family was a lot more open about their heritage and he knows that his great-great (7 gens ago) grandma used to live in a city called Leidfall. It’s west of Umeå and he told us how to get there. Dagmar and I have been talking about it and we’re thinking about trying to get in. They might know something about Dagmar’s family. If we go, is there anything you might want us to ask about?_

“Here.” Harry pushed the messenger over to Parasca so that she could read it. “I’m going to get a better map.”

He’d put one up that covered as far north as Trondheim. Harry found a better one in the resource room that encompassed all of mainland Scandinavia plus Finland. He walked slowly on his way back to his seat, looking for Umeå.

“So here’s something interesting,” Harry said to Parasca. He pointed at Umeå. “It’s pretty far away from Trondheim, but at a similar latitude. If Hildegard or Hildegard’s family ever had something to do with Leidfall, they might have just migrated west after leaving.”

“Draco just says Leidfall is west of Umeå,” Parasca pointed out. “Hildegard’s family might not have had to travel the full. . .what is that, three hundred miles between Umeå and Trondheim?”

“Something like that,” Harry replied. “Hold on.”

 _Did your coworker say where the city is?_ Harry wrote.

 _50ish miles northwest of Umeå,_ Malfoy replied.

“What should we get them to ask about if they go there?” Harry asked Parasca. “I don’t want to say something that might tip them off we’ve been looking into all that stuff Hildegard said. It might open questions about Bjorn, and that is _not_ something I’m prepared to break to Dagmar.”

“It’s pretty well-known that Voldemort was seeking immortality.” Parasca shrugged. “Maybe we suspect lichdom, but aren’t sure.”

“‘Kay.” Harry dipped his quill to pen his response: _Parasca and I haven’t had much for leads lately so we’ve been exploring different possibilities how Voldemort might’ve been talking with druids about how to become immortal. Druids have power over life and death, right? Maybe he found a way, seeing as he did come back after trying to do me in. If they could tell you anything, that’d be really helpful. Parasca thinks maybe he turned himself into a lich._

 _We can do that,_ Malfoy replied. _No guarantees of course, but we’ll try. We’re prepared to get stonewalled based on how Dagmar’s mum is. We’re hopeful too, since my coworker’s family was open enough that he still knows how to find Leidfall 7 gens later._

_When are you going?_

_Not sure. We want to before winter, which probably means sometime this month. In Nov Dagmar needs to start preparing for her exams and there’s going to be a lot going on with this clinic she’s part of._

_I’ll keep thinking if there’s anything else. Just let me know when you’re getting close to it just in case I miss you_

_Cheers. While I got you here can I ask you something?_

Harry had a feeling he knew what was coming. _What’s up?_

_Granger told Dagmar you and Pansy are going together?_

_Yep_

_Oh yeah_

_Weird, or?_

_Definitely didn’t expect it,_ Malfoy replied. _But I dunno. I haven’t hardly talked to Pansy in a year so she’s probably different from when we were together_

_I didn’t expect it either, but sometimes things just happen._

_Yep. I have no weird feelings about it to be clear. After how rough the break up was it’s kind of a relief to hear she’s moved on and all that. Probably about time you got on with that too hey? Haha_

Harry exhaled through his nose in place of a laugh. _Yeah_

With little else to do for work, Harry ended up bouncing back and forth between chatting with Pansy and Malfoy. Harry hadn’t talked to Malfoy or Dagmar since the end of August, so there was a bit to catch up on there. Malfoy hadn’t heard that Mr. Nott reached out to Dumbledore, although there wasn’t much more than that to say about it.

Harry offered his congratulations on Malfoy and Dagmar getting engaged. Although happy for them since Malfoy was clearly excited, it caused Harry pause for Pansy. She’d made it clear to Harry that she didn’t have any lingering feelings for Malfoy, but he didn’t know how she’d react about the engagement. Harry didn’t feel it right to keep from her, either.

Pansy was just getting her things ready to go when Harry arrived at Madam Malkin’s. She put it off when she spotted Harry, meeting him halfway across the back room. Pansy made a noise like a groan as she squeezed him tightly about the middle.

“I’m honestly so glad you’re done abroad,” she told him after a kiss. “I’d rather you be home.”

“I don’t have any plans on going off again,” Harry replied. “At least we came home on the weekends.”

“Mhm.”

Now that Harry was back in London until further notice, he started to realize just how much of a difference there was between physically being with Pansy and merely talking to her through the messenger. Harry appreciated the ability to have some sort of contact, but he much preferred this. It wasn’t just being able to hold or touch her, but even things like how she smelled or the lingering taste of the mints she liked that meant so much.

Harry had more fun than he expected, sitting on various couches and chairs at a furniture store to help Pansy pick what she wanted. She put the shrunken furniture into her bag as they carried on. Both were hungry, so they grabbed a couple kebabs before heading to Pansy’s place. They set the furniture Pansy had bought in the correct rooms.

“Nice to have chairs this time,” Harry commented through a mouthful of mash.

Pansy laughed. “I’m planning on bringing my bed here tomorrow night. I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything else I need from my parents’ place.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah. . .” Pansy’s smile drooped a little. “Oh well. Once they’ve said their piece, I can leave. I just hope they don’t come into the shop about it. I’ve warned Madam Malkin it might happen, but I know how to handle it. Neither my mum or father would want to make a scene. If they come in, I just need to stay where there might be witnesses.”

“Hopefully they just don’t.”

“If they do, they do.” Pansy shrugged. “I’ll handle it.”

As was usually the case when they got kebabs for dinner, Harry ended up putting leftovers into the ice box. Pansy followed suit, and they went about organizing her furniture. There was only a dresser for the bedroom, which Pansy directed Harry to put against the wall between the doors for the bedroom and bathroom. For the living room, Pansy had bought a set with a couch, love seat, and chair, as well as end tables and a coffee table. Harry dropped onto one end of the couch. Pansy was quick to follow, leaning up against him and setting her head on his shoulder.

“See, this is what we’ve been missing,” Pansy said. “Just a private place to spend time together.”

“Mhm.”

It only took Harry turning his face toward Pansy for her to lift her head again. She studied Harry before a slow grin manifested. It didn’t have a chance to fully form before Harry leaned in.

Heat immediately rose in Harry’s abdomen, but he tried not to immediately shy away from it out of reflex. He turned more toward Pansy so that his shoulder wasn’t between them anymore. It broke their contact for a split-second, in which Pansy’s gaze flicked over Harry’s face in quick assessment. Her arms closed around Harry’s shoulder as he kissed her again. A gentle nibble on Harry’s bottom lip posed another challenge to his comfort zone. It was usually about this point Harry needed to ease off. He liked that maybe a bit too much.

Pansy’s kisses grew more chaste, and then she put less of her weight against Harry. She ended up still seated close, but with her legs over Harry’s. Pansy played with his hand, and Harry felt surprisingly okay with waiting out an erection. It didn’t feel as dirty or scandalous as it would’ve a week ago.

“All right?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.” Pansy shrugged. “I can just tell when you’re getting to your limit. I wouldn’t want to push you past it.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I know you well enough.” Pansy’s head lolled toward Harry. “You know, you snog a couple times. . .you start to figure it out.”

Harry chuckled. “Can’t say I’ve had the opportunity to find _your_ limit.”

“I think we both know it’s past yours.” Pansy nudged Harry with her shoulder. “It’s okay, though. I remember what it was like to gear up for the first time. I was so nervous.”

“It’s a bit different for women though, isn’t it?” Harry asked. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Pansy hesitated, her lax smile fading. “Did for me, but doesn’t for everybody. Draco and I just didn’t know what we were doing. We were only fourteen. Since I expected it to hurt because that’s what I’d heard always happened, I didn’t do anything to prevent it. Just figured we should get it over with, and then it’d be fine.”

“Not that I want to be weird asking details, but I think the more I know, the better off I’d be going in,” Harry said.

“Draco and I were just young and stupid.” Pansy shrugged. “There were a lot of things we could’ve benefited to know early on to make it better. I think he had a decent time. It’s easy for blokes. You know, you put it in, move around a bit, and so long as your head’s in the right place, that’s all it takes. I think Draco thought that felt as good to me as it did him, but it isn’t the same thing.

“Women have something similar to a willy, but it’s not inside.” Pansy chuckled, face warming a little. “I was too shy to say anything about it. Draco didn’t figure it out for a while. Sex didn’t last long either, because both of us assumed it was over once he was finished. I hope it’s not weird to say it did get better. One thing I learned sorting through everything with Ginny is that I’d have an easier time letting Draco go by being realistic about our relationship. We had good things. We had bad things. I like to think that since the sex eventually got better, we learned a lot from each other.”

Harry nodded. “I don’t feel jealous about it, or anything. Er. . .you know that I was keeping an eye on Malfoy last year. Since you two had broken up, I was aware how it affected you. Since you’re not upset like that anymore, kinda hard to think you have any feelings left.”

“Yeah,” Pansy said right away. “I won’t lie, I was in a bad place. I look back on that now, and I wouldn’t mind the Earth swallowing me up because of how embarrassing I acted. I went back and forth between idealizing Draco and then absolutely hating him. I wanted to hate him because then maybe I could let it go, you know? When I started hanging out with Ginny—she’s had a couple boyfriends, and she’s mostly still friends with them after things ended. I wanted to know her secret to that.” Pansy chuckled. “I didn’t really want to put Draco in any kind of good light in case those feelings came back. In the end, it was worth it. Ginny pointed out to me that if I made Draco out to be a total villain and then he was ever kind to me, I’d be vulnerable to fall for him again. But if I can look at him and think he can be a good person but he’s not for me, that’s the key in moving on.”

“Makes sense, especially since he’s actually kind of shaping up.”

Pansy laughed. “He’d have to be for you to give him a chance at being your mate.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “It doesn’t make me feel weird. I already have a pretty close view of Malfoy’s life because I was digging dirt on him. We’ve been working together behind the scenes, and we’ve somewhat buried the hatchet. We aren’t really mates in the sense we talk often. I talked to him earlier today through messenger, but hadn’t since August before that.”

“What were you talking to him about today?”

“Hadn’t checked any messages since I went abroad.” Harry rested his head back against the couch, his thumb rhythmic on Pansy’s knee. “He had something for me that had come up, possibly relevant to what I’ve been working on. Chatted a bit after that. Hermione had mentioned to Dagmar we’re going together. Malfoy told me him and Dagmar got engaged.”

Pansy’s eyebrows leapt up before sliding back to their normal resting place. “I guess I’m not surprised by that.”

“Doesn’t bother you, or anything?”

Lips pursed, Pansy shook her head. “I’m more concerned about what _I’ve_ got going on, you know?”

Harry smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder again, although his cheeks quickly fell. “If I knew something about you and Malfoy’s relationship that you maybe don’t, would you want to know?”

Pansy looked wary when she lifted her head again. “Like what?”

“Why it ended.”

“He basically told me we weren’t compatible, which was true.” Pansy blinked. “I thought he maybe cheated on me, but I’m not sure. He had this look on his face when he showed up at my parents’ house like he was guilty of something really bad. I figured he cheated but couldn’t figure out a way to come back from that, then figured it wasn’t worth the effort anyway because we didn’t get along well enough to spend our lives together.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Harry said. “Maybe this was just a contributing factor. From what I know about the arranged marriages, you both had to agree to go forward, right? That’s how Malfoy was able to back out?”

Pansy nodded.

“There were some strings pulled in the background,” Harry told her. “Lucius and Narcissa changed the agreements. They wanted Malfoy to go with someone whose parents were Death Eaters too. Lucius did, anyway. Narcissa told Malfoy in a letter before she disappeared that Dagmar’s mum knew she wanted nothing to do with the Death Eaters. Narcissa figured if Malfoy could make it work with Dagmar, it would get him out of the whole thing.”

While Harry talked, Pansy’s gaze fell long toward the floor. She stopped idly playing with Harry’s hand. She was quiet when Harry finished, and Harry couldn’t tell if she was mad, upset, or what.

“Nice to know what the Malfoys really think of me, I guess,” she finally said.

“I don’t know that it was personal. Voldemort might’ve even had a hand in it, if he cares enough about stuff like that.”

“Honestly just makes me that much more relieved I never got that close to the Death Eaters,” Pansy said. “I didn’t want a political marriage. I wanted a loving one.”

Harry studied her. “It doesn’t upset you?”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Not the way you’re probably asking. Did you ever talk to Ernie Macmillan after it came out Dagmar’s parents were Death Eaters? He fancied her for years before that. Called her a dodged bludger afterward. I kind of feel the same way. I won’t deny I have my own baggage, but Draco and Dagmar can have their own baggage together, over there.”

Harry laughed as Pansy waved her hand in general direction of the kitchen.

“I just don’t have the energy to spend on Draco anymore,” Pansy said. “I’d rather spend it on you.”

Her fingers settled more surely in Harry’s again. Harry felt pretty loose with his relief, glad he hadn’t upset Pansy by being open with her. He liked that he could tell her something with potential for high emotional impact without negative outcome. Harry pulled her up closer with that, his lower abdomen glowing as Pansy’s fingers ran through his hair when their lips pressed. His blood resettled in his lap—not a problem, he figured—although Harry stiffened all over when Pansy touched his thigh not too far away.

“You know,” Pansy breathed before catching Harry’s bottom lip between her teeth. “Why don’t I just show you some things?”

Harry’s heart pounded with mingled nerves and excitement. “Things like what?”

Pansy shrugged, coy. “Let’s see what happens.”

“What about your bed, though?”

“What about it?” Pansy laughed. “We don’t need it. If you don’t want to, I can drop it. It’s okay.”

“No,” Harry quickly replied. “I just. . .I don’t know, thought you had to do it proper.”

“First thing you’re going to learn is that sex is just messy. There’s no escaping that.”

Harry chuckled, forcing himself to relax. “Okay.”

Pansy considered Harry before swinging her legs off of his. She shifted as they started snogging again, and a flurry of nerves revisited Harry when she straddled his hips. That was it, Harry supposed. She wouldn’t be able to settle without realizing he was hard. 

It did nothing to dissuade Pansy. She took Harry’s glasses off to get them out of the way. Their torsos pressed, and she held Harry’s face with both hands to better snog him. Harry didn’t get much chance to feel embarrassed about what kind of reaction Pansy brought out of him, and he was starting to have a hard time caring. Her enthusiasm with contagious.

Pansy shifted in Harry’s lap, invoking an involuntary groan. She chuckled into Harry’s mouth before pulling back enough for their foreheads to stay together. Their hot breath pooled between them.

“Just so you know, it’s about the complete opposite of shameful if you’re turned on,” Pansy said. “Nice to know you’re into it.”

Harry’s cheeks burned anyway. “Well, that’s good.”

“It’s harder to tell with woman, sure, but believe me, if it could be this obvious—” Harry had to close his eyes as Pansy shifted against him again, “—it’d _be_ that obvious. You’ll see what I mean in a bit.”

“Okay.”

Pansy kissed Harry again, although Harry was disappointed when she sat up straighter and put a little bit of space between them. It was worth it when she pulled up her shirt, intent to remove it. Her chest was eye level with Harry, which he eyed until the glint of jewelry on her navel caught his attention. He was still looking at it when Pansy tossed her shirt.

“Oh, I don’t suppose you would know about that.” Pansy chuckled as she ran her thumb over the piercing. “I got it last summer. Cute, right?”

“Something like that.” Harry looked up at her. “I like it.”

“Good.”

They both chuckled again before Pansy leaned herself back over Harry. Not that he was blind to how little of a person she was—barely five feet tall and slim to boot—but it was really obvious to him now. Harry mapped out her waist, back, and thighs with wandering hands, although gripped Pansy’s hips when her mouth gravitated to his ear. Her breath hitting the shell sent shivers down Harry’s spine. His mouth dried when she nibbled the lobe.

“Might want to, ah. . .slow down,” Harry managed.

“Or speed up?” Pansy murmured. “You’d probably focus better.”

“Maybe.”

Regardless that he agreed, Harry got nervous again as Pansy returned to his side. Harry felt quite on display as Pansy looked at his lap, and stiffened again when she reached for the button on his jeans. “Er. . .”

Pansy stopped. “No?”

“I don’t know.” Harry’s face felt hot again. “Still just a bit overwhelmed.”

“You’ll feel better after.” Pansy leaned up on Harry. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I know. I just am.”

Harry worried Pansy might be losing her patience with him. He was certainly losing it with himself. She still just smiled. For how riled up both of them were, Pansy kissed him surprisingly chastely.

“Maybe it’d be better if I didn’t just go for it?” Pansy asked. “You’ll probably appreciate that more with experience, but I don’t mean to overwhelm you. I just want you really bad.”

“I want you too,” Harry said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Yes you do. First time jitters.”

Laughing made Harry feel a bit better, as did lapsing back into something more familiar with more snogging. There’d once been a time that even _this_ much was overwhelming. That helped put things into perspective.

Harry figured out pretty quickly what Pansy was up to. Her touch was wandering, to make it more subtle. The stupid thing for Harry was that while he needed the extra time to adjust to what was happening, he _really_ didn’t need anymore anticipation. He inhaled harshly and broke the kiss when Pansy touched him through his jeans.

She studied him with a tilted head. “Still no?”

“No, it’s fine.”

It was easier when Pansy wasn’t looking at him. Her touch grew beyond tantalizing, and Harry couldn’t take it anymore after a while. While they snogged, Harry rested a hand on top of hers.

“What’re you thinking?” she asked.

“Oh, you know. . .”

Pansy had to move away a bit to use both hands. While Harry’s heart thudded, he just watched now. It was a definite relief to be free from the confines of his jeans. Harry didn’t feel so nervous at the fond expression Pansy wore as she looked down at him.

“What do you know,” she said. “It’s a willy.”

Harry snorted before Pansy directed him to shift so that she could push his jeans and pants further down. Now that Harry was exposed, he felt a little silly sitting there with any clothes on at all. He didn’t have much opportunity to think after that. Pansy occupied his mouth again, and her hand slid purposely over Harry. Harry should’ve known better than to look down, but he couldn’t help it when Pansy nibbled his earlobe again. He tried to think about the logistics of the mess to come. His brain was too devoid of blood.

Pansy returned to Harry’s mouth in time to swallow his groan. She stayed with him through it, her hand coming to a slow stop when Harry had nothing left to give. Harry slouched back against the couch and heaved a deep breath.

More than anything, Pansy looked triumphant. She kissed Harry’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Harry tucked himself back into his pants. Pansy returned from the bathroom as he was buttoning his jeans, although Harry stopped when she tsked.

“Wouldn’t you rather take those off?” she asked. “You might be more comfortable.”

“I didn’t think about it.” Harry paused. “It’s still okay on the couch?”

“Don’t worry about the couch.” Pansy resumed a straddle over Harry’s lap, making the discussion a moot point. “It can always be cleaned. It wouldn’t really be mine if we didn’t break it in now, would it?”

Pansy was right about Harry feeling better with the pressure taken off. After cumming into Pansy’s hand, not a whole lot else seemed very scandalous. His shirt came off easily in the wake. Harry wrapped his arms around Pansy’s middle when she pressed their near-bare torsos together.

Harry traced his fingers down her spine. “So what can I do for you?”

“Ooh, the choices,” Pansy said, making Harry laugh. “Well, first of all. . .you’ve got foreplay down except for one crucial thing.”

Harry tilted his head, although he caught on fast as Pansy reached behind her. He couldn’t help but stare at her chest anew in anticipation, and he wouldn’t suppress the smile that came up if he could.

Her bra joined their shirts on the other end of the couch. Pansy’s movement caused a little bit of jiggle, which Harry’s eyes widened at. “Can I touch them?”

“Oh my god, Harry,” Pansy’s tone sharpened. “Of course you can.”

Harry laughed with her before cupping them. “Just making sure.”

Pansy touched one of Harry’s forearms. “You could even use your mouth, if you like.”

Harry glanced up at her. “‘Kay.”

They had a little weight to them, and were warm. Harry also liked how Pansy’s nipples felt against his palms. Pansy enjoyed the attention too, even if it was more exploratory than anything. The way she sighed when Harry took one of her nipples between his lips was telling. Feeling a little bold, Harry slipped his fingertips into the waist of Pansy’s leggings.

Pansy chuckled. “Hold on.”

She stood up and slipped her leggings down. They made a small pile on the carpet with her socks before Pansy sat back beside Harry.

“I like those,” Harry said about her knickers.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” Pansy asked. “I’ll be honest, though. If I knew we were going to be fooling around, I would’ve wore nicer ones.”

“Oh well.” Harry shifted more on the couch to face her. He hoped he wasn’t making Pansy uncomfortable by staring, but she didn’t seem to mind. His throat felt a little dry when he noticed a prominent wet spot on the crotch of her knickers.

“That’s what I meant earlier, by the way,” Pansy said. She pulled her knickers’ lacy material away from her skin by hooking her thumb into the waistline. “Willys get hard, fannies get wet.”

“Makes things fit together better, right?”

“Yes, exactly.” Pansy chuckled. “It’s a good thing.”

Harry likened it to being hard. He wondered if it felt as intolerable to her as him, and if Pansy felt as much a need for relief as he had. Feeling bold again, Harry shifted Pansy’s hips to be better square with him and then slipped the knickers off. Pansy laid back propped up onto her elbows. More coy than shy, she kept her knees together when Harry tossed the knickers onto her leggings.

Pansy had nothing left on her. Harry scratched lightly at her calf, quietly taking it all in. “Said it before and I’ll say it again. You are _really_ pretty.”

“Aw, thank you.” Pansy nudged him with her foot. “Ready for the next part?”

“Yep.” Harry sat straighter. “I wanna know how to make you feel good.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Harry chuckled, but he stopped shy when Pansy let her legs fall more open. He was used to everything just being right there for himself, but Pansy’s was all quite hidden away. There were folds of skin inside the slit, and although Harry hadn’t explicitly seen a woman naked like this before, something about it was familiar. He thought of men and women as being biological opposites in ways. If he had something to stick in, then women had somewhere to receive that. Harry wasn’t sure he saw exactly where that was since Pansy wasn’t spread right open, but he had an idea.

“You can touch me if you like,” Pansy told him. “Just be mindful. Watch your nails, stuff like that.”

“They’re short,” Harry said. “You said you had something sort of like a willy?”

“An equivalent,” Pansy corrected him. “Right here.”

She readjusted and opened her legs more. Pansy pointed at the top of it all. Her wetness created strands connecting between the folds of skin. All of it was slightly red and swollen. Although Harry hadn’t cum all that long ago, he could feel himself stirring again as he took it all in. He could smell Pansy too, and couldn’t resist drawing long, deep breaths.

“Just rub it, or. . .?” Harry asked.

“Yep,” Pansy said. “Get your fingers wet first. I’m sure you know how great friction feels.”

Harry laughed. His hand trembled a little as he rested it on Pansy’s pubic mound, running his thumb over some of the wet flesh before giving where Pansy had shown him a tentative stroke. He moved it in a circle.

Pansy was quiet. Harry glanced up at her to make sure he was doing okay. Were it not for glazed eyes and the rise and fall of her chest, Harry would just say she looked relaxed.

“All right?” Harry asked her.

“Mhm.” She smiled. “Just enjoying watching you figure it out.”

“This can’t be all I could do for you,” Harry said.

“Take your time getting a feel.” Pansy chuckled. “You could finger me too, or even use your mouth if you’re into that.”

Harry was having a hard time feeling shy about anything at the moment. “What, like snog it?”

Pansy snorted. “Yeah, basically. You must know what a blowjob is, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“That, but on a woman.”

If Pansy tasted as good as she smelled, then Harry wouldn’t mind trying it. He shifted more onto his knees and bent down. Getting his face wet was probably a given, so he figured there was no point trying to avoid it.

He settled with his nose in the small amount of short hair she had. She did taste good, good enough that Harry was starting to get hard again from it. It wasn’t as insistent as before, although glancing up at Pansy had a definite effect. Her fingers in Harry’s hair were encouraging.

“Would you move up on the couch?” Harry stopped to ask.

“Sure.”

Pansy scooted far enough for the couch arm to brace her mid-back. Now that Harry could better lay down, he made himself at home between Pansy’s legs. While he went about it, trying new things to see what worked, he alternated between running his hands over her thighs and resting them on her stomach. Her navel piercing was hypnotizing in its own way, since it glittered in the torchlight in time with her stomach rising and falling. Pansy shifted a little, exhaling as her head tilted back before returning upright.

“That’s really nice,” she breathed.

“I’m doing okay?” Harry asked.

“Absolutely fine.”

He rested his cheek against her thigh. “My tongue’s a little tired. That probably takes practice, huh?”

Pansy giggled. “I think so. You don’t have to do any one thing the whole time. I’d like it if you fingered me a little.”

“Okay.”

There was a kind of slope to everything between Pansy’s legs, leading to a telltale dip. Harry still had to look in order to find the opening, since it was a lot lower than he thought it would be. It was also warmer than expected when he slipped a finger in.

Pansy ran her fingers through Harry’s hair again. “Could you use two?”

“Oh, sure.”

It got a little more snug. Harry’s erection gave a throb when he thought about how nice this must feel around that instead. His mouth had rested up, so Harry went back to what he was doing before while keeping on with his fingers. Pansy’s hips moved with Harry, and he heard her toes crack once or twice behind his head. Her feet touched his back occasionally.

“God, that’s nice,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

The muscles in Harry’s mouth were starting to tire again. He pushed through anyway, going faster with his fingers since Pansy’s hips seemed to demand it. Pansy’s nails dug into Harry’s free hand on her hip before her fingers were in his hair again. She held the back of his head, trembling from head to toe. She tightened around his fingers before it released into a spasm. Heat pooled strongly in Harry’s lower abdomen when she moaned.

Harry’s head hurt where Pansy held it. She’d pulled his hair. Pansy’s face and torso were completely flushed. Her chest heaved and her gaze was soft. Harry nuzzled her thigh again.

“You should come here,” she said.

“What should I do with this?”

Harry held his hand up, which had two very sticky fingers. Pansy covered her face with both hands, giggling and redder than she’d already been.

“Just wipe them off on my shirt,” she told him. “I won’t send you home with that on yours.”

“‘Kay.”

Pansy’s shirt was floating around somewhere up by her. Harry hoped it wasn’t too crass to wipe his chin as well, but Pansy didn’t seem to mind. She wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck before inviting him in for a lazy snog.

“That was so good,” she said with a contented sigh. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never been gone down on before?”

“What?” That took Harry aback.

Pansy shook her head. “I wasn’t ever comfortable enough to give it a go.”

“Huh.” Harry ran his fingers back through Pansy’s hair. “Well, I liked it. So if you ever want it. . .”

Pansy giggled, then lifted her head off the couch to kiss him again. “I really like doing it too, just so you know. I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’ll be honest, I got all riled up again.”

Harry laughed with her, although tapered off into a loose grin as Pansy wormed a hand down between them.

“Would you let me?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Grinning with excitement, Pansy pushed on Harry’s shoulder. She ran her fingers back through her hair after sitting up. It had gone a little stringy. She reached for her knickers, to Harry’s disappointment. He minded a lot less when she pulled them up with her back to Harry. He blatantly stared at her bum until she turned back around. His gaze wandered back up to her breasts.

Pansy kneeled on the floor between Harry’s legs. She hesitated then, and reached for her leggings. After folding them, she put them between her knees and the carpet. Pansy flicked her hair back over her shoulder and smiled as she unbuttoned Harry’s jeans again.

“Ooh, I’m so excited,” she said with a playful wiggle of her shoulders. Harry’s gaze dropped to see how it made her breasts move. “You have no idea.”

“I’m sure I’m about to find out.”

Pansy giggled. “Could you hold my hair for me? I don’t have a tie.”

“Yep.”

Harry lifted his bum off the couch so that Pansy could shimmy his jeans off. There was a spot on Harry’s pants kind of like there’d been on her knickers. No nerves remained as Pansy pulled Harry’s pants down enough to gain access. She stroked him to start, her gaze softening before she bent down to run her tongue up the underside.

She looked up. “Hold my hair?”

“Oh—right.”

Since Harry had already cum earlier, he lasted quite a bit longer. He appreciated the chance to actually enjoy the act in turn, and Pansy took her time anyway while she did the same. Harry didn’t think he’d ever look at Pansy’s mouth the same way, especially when she stayed on him when Harry came again. He almost couldn’t look at her as he got a little overwhelmed, but the wrinkle of concentration in her brow held Harry’s focus.

Once Harry recuperated a little, he leaned down and held Pansy’s jaw with both hands as he kissed her. Her lips were beyond swollen.

“Now I _really_ wish I had my bed here,” Pansy said. “You could’ve stayed the night.”

“Yeah.” Harry regretted that too. He could definitely sleep right now, and his own bed was going to feel horribly empty.

A new smile came over Pansy. “Tomorrow night, though?”


	28. Oslo

An owl from Uncle Håkon arrived unexpectedly for Dagmar during the second week of October. Dagmar still wasn’t sure about contact with the Ramstad family. She couldn’t exactly turn down a family meeting, since her dad’s estate still profited from Ramstad Manor.

“Do I look ready to talk about numbers and property and stuff?” Dagmar tried to joke when she came downstairs.

“Properly serious.” Draco laid on the love seat with Heimdall over his stomach. Both of Heimdall’s massive paws stretched toward Dagmar. She could hear him purring from halfway across the room.

“Now you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Dagmar lightly teased Draco. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“All right.”

Draco grunted with effort to get Heimdall off him. He used his wand to clean himself up, then took Dagmar’s hand to apparate them down to Den Sultne Jotunn. From there, they went by floo to Oslo.

They arrived in a travel room where the door let out into a shopping centre. While Dagmar looked around, her gaze came back when she spotted Uncle Håkon. She smiled tightly as they approached each other.

“Hallo,” she greeted him.

“Hei.” Uncle Håkon seemed similarly awkward. “How’ve you been, kiddo?”

“Doing all right. School and work have been very busy.” Dagmar gestured at Draco. “This is Draco.”

“Nice to meet you.” Håkon extended a hand. “Congrats on the engagement. That’s pretty exciting, hey?”

“Yep.” Draco cast a fond look in Dagmar’s direction, which she returned. “It is.”

“Well, let’s get going.” Håkon nodded toward the floo building. “Everyone’s probably there.”

“Right.”

Dagmar followed Håkon through the fireplace. It came out into a large family room, already filled with people. Everyone that descended from Anders Ramstad had a say in the future of the manor. Four generations worth of people ended up more than Dagmar anticipated. At a glance and quick count, Dagmar guessed there was something like fifty people. Her reemerged nerves tapered as Draco came in behind her.

“I could introduce you two around?” Håkon offered. “Did you want some coffee or anything?”

“Sure,” Dagmar accepted.

They made their way toward the kitchen, but were cut off immediately by someone addressing Håkon. They stopped in at the little group, the four men looking at Dagmar and Draco in interest. Dagmar had never seen them either, although they all lit up when Håkon introduced her as Erik’s daughter.

“So nice to finally meet!” One of the men shook Dagmar’s hand with enthusiasm. “I’m your dad’s cousin, Frode.”

The other three were cousins as well, although not from the same family. Dagmar felt a little silly trying to get who was who straight, but that they answered her questions patiently with a twist of humour made her feel better. It also got Dagmar thinking. There was a rotunda along the way to the kitchen, which Dagmar pulled Håkon into along with Draco.

“Do they not know?” Dagmar asked.

Håkon shook his head. “Nei, only Agneta and I, and our partners.”

“Oh.” Dagmar looked back into the family room.

“We didn’t really go much into it when we met up in August.” Håkon lowered his voice just in case someone came by to use the toilet. “Agneta left it up to your dad after everything. If he saw your mum and you as family, then that’s what you were. I understand why your dad didn’t want anything to do with us after that. That doesn’t mean you’re not _our_ family, though. Not unless you don’t want it, which we’d also understand. . .even if it’s not what we want.”

Dagmar folded her arms, shrugging. “I’ve still been processing.”

“I’m sure.” Håkon nodded. “If you want, we could all sit down once the meeting is over. Agneta wants to apologize. She knows she was completely in the wrong, and she wants to move on. You’ve been through enough with losing your dad.”

“Maybe. I’m already nervous enough just to meet her.”

“See how you feel.” Håkon squeezed her shoulder. “It’s all up to you.”

Dagmar gave a quick nod before the three of them kept on toward the kitchen. Dagmar relaxed a bit as Draco took her hand. He reassured her with a smile as well. Dagmar was all the more glad she’d replied to Håkon’s invitation with the question of whether Draco could come. Since Draco was her fiancé now, Dagmar supposed it only made sense. From the Ramstad family’s perspective, he was just as much a part of them as anyone else’s partners.

There were multiple pitchers of water, coffee, soda, and juice on the large kitchen island. While Dagmar poured herself some coffee, one of the women broke away from a group chatting in the dining room. Dagmar’s stomach lurched because she recognized Agneta from when she was a little kid. Agneta’s mostly silver hair was long enough now to be pulled back into a bun. She had the same eyes as Dagmar’s dad. They crinkled identically when Agneta smiled. That it was a genuine expression eased the fearful part of Dagmar’s apprehension to see her.

She rested a hand on Dagmar’s shoulder. “Well, I’d recognize you anywhere. You look just like your mother.”

“I get that a lot,” Dagmar replied somewhat automatically. “How are you?”

“Oh, fine.” Agneta waved a hand. “Looking forward to this meeting, like everyone else. How about you? Håkon said you’re living in Bergen! And this is your fiancé?”

“Ja, this is Draco.”

Draco extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Agneta took it. “You’re from Britain, ja? One of the Malfoys?”

Draco hesitated before nodding. “Mhm.”

“So you must be used to these kinds of meetings,” Agneta replied. “How’re you liking it up here so far?”

“Love it.”

Agneta placed a hand on both their arms. “I won’t hold you much longer so that you can get acquainted with everyone else. What would you two think about staying for coffee afterward? I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Sure,” Dagmar agreed with a glance at Draco. “We won’t be able to stay too late, though. Draco starts work at midnight.”

“Of course.” Agneta smiled at them.

She seemed pleasant enough. It was hard to reconcile her to the woman that had driven Dagmar’s dad to cut off contact with the entire family. Dagmar wondered what Agneta might have to say for herself in a more private setting. She herself hadn’t thought about what _she_ might like to say. Dagmar wasn’t feeling particularly confrontational. To some degree she understood what Agneta had done, and Dagmar would by lying to say she didn’t have a lot of resentment toward her mother. Dagmar just hated that she’d been stuck in the middle of it all. She never had a chance to discuss this with her dad.

Håkon did some more introductions, and then led Dagmar and Draco out onto the back deck. It overlooked a small lake, and then beyond a mound of land was what Dagmar suspected to be Oslofjord. The people on the deck were closer to her and Draco’s age.

“Hei, cuz,” Påske greeted Dagmar with a wink while they shook hands. “Finally back to Oslo, huh?”

“Ja.” Dagmar managed a laugh. “It’s been a while.”

“I’d say. Last time I saw you, you were about this big.”

Dagmar laughed when Påske held his hand flat at about knee-height. “Ja, well, you weren’t much bigger.”

He was tall now, well over six feet along with the rest of the men. The women were closer to Dagmar and Draco’s height, and only Dagmar’s cousin Flor (Agneta’s daughter) was shorter. Flor had a baby, maybe about six months old, in a chest sling.

“This is Else,” Flor introduced her. “We had a long night so go figure, a loud house is where she’s going to sleep undisturbed.”

“You’re lucky,” Dagmar said. “I see a lot of babies at the hospital. Some of them. . .I mean, they’re all very cute, but the crying echoes in your head when you go home at the end of the day.”

Flor laughed. “How is that, the Healing program? It was something I considered doing before I ended up in the accounting office at my dad’s oil company. Then I met _that_ one, and now I have _this_ one.”

She pointed at Nils, one of the men that Draco was chatting with along with Påske and Viglaug, Håkon’s other son.

“I really love it,” Dagmar replied a little breathlessly. “In a few weeks I’ll start studying for exams, which kind of sucks. Oh well. We only take four courses at a time, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Especially not if you like the courses.”

As two o’clock neared, when the actual meeting would take place, Dagmar was feeling a lot better about being there. She hung around with Flor, Ida, Vilde, and Eline outside, and told Draco she was doing just fine the couple times they touched base. Dagmar nipped into the toilet and refilled her coffee before everyone migrated into the study next to the family room.

The table had been pushed up against some of the bookshelves. Dagmar glanced at it, then looked again. She headed over. “Mrs. Keene, hei.”

“Oh, hello!” Mrs. Keene greeted her. “How are you?”

Dagmar hadn’t seen Mrs. Keene face-to-face since the beginning of summer. They sent owls back and forth regarding estate business. Even though today concerned the estate, Dagmar hadn’t considered the possibility of seeing Mrs. Keene. She’d been too worried about seeing everyone else.

They exchanged just a few quick words before Dagmar took a chair between Uncle Håkon and Viglaug. Draco remained out in the family room with the others that had no explicit say in the estate. Dagmar was prepared to have to answer a lot of questions, but felt like she had more of a cushion now. While socializing, nobody had seemed keen to ask Dagmar about her parents’ involvements. They were more interested in what she personally was doing with her life, and of course had a lot of questions for Draco once they learned he was a dragonologist.

Agneta was the last one in. She closed the study doors. With that, everyone wrapped up their conversations. Dagmar redirected her attention to the estate advocates.

“I think we’re all ready,” one of the Oslo-side advocates named Jens said. “So the main discussion today is regarding the potential sale of Ramstad Manor in Berkshire County. Just to see where we’re starting on matter of opinion, could I see a show of hands for those in favour of selling?”

It had been a tough decision to reach, but Dagmar raised her hand. As she looked around, she was surprised to see that the decision was unanimous.

“Well. . .that certainly makes this easier,” Jens said, bringing out a quick wave of laughter in the room. “In that case, we can skip the for-or-against debate and launch straight into the terms of sale. Nora, Edith, and I have done some market research. Of course, since there are some other factors that may depreciate the value. . .”

It wasn’t possible to determine listing price without frankly discussing Dagmar’s dad’s death. She tried to take a step back away from that so that she wasn’t the emotional one in the room, but a stubborn lump still lingered in Dagmar’s throat. Even if no extra attention was directed toward Dagmar, she still felt something like a spotlight on her. She had lived in the house while all of this happened. As Dagmar looked around at them all, she wondered why she never reached out to anyone for help. Maybe this could’ve all been avoided.

“As for the house itself, we’ll need access to ensure everything’s prepared for sale,” Nora translated to Norwegian from Mrs. Keene. “Dagmar, it was mentioned you’re able to do so?”

Dagmar sat up straighter, having grown comfortable with her quiet role in the meeting. “It’s been placed under a Fidelius Charm by Albus Dumbledore. The Secret Keeper is a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s anti-Voldemort group. If anyone needs to get in there, I could arrange a meeting with the Secret Keeper.”

“Is the manor house being used by Dumbledore?” one of Dagmar’s uncles asked.

“I think so, although I couldn’t say definitely.” Dagmar crossed her legs. “There were a couple Death Eaters that defected about a year ago. The manor house was used as a safe house for them and their families until they were relocated. I don’t believe it’s being used at the moment. If it’s not, the house is empty. Everything personal has been removed.”

“Would you be able to get in contact with Dumbledore to ask?” the same uncle replied, before looking around. “I don’t know that I have a problem with the house being used until it’s sold, but the sale might interfere with Dumbledore’s business. He should at least be aware of that.”

“Draco’s family’s manor house is being used the same way,” Dagmar said. “If anyone was being kept safe at Ramstad Manor, they could easily be moved to Malfoy Manor. Dumbledore has appreciated having use of the property, but I don’t think he’d want to interfere with this kind of family business.”

“I half-wonder if the property value will go up once Voldemort is gone,” one of Dagmar’s aunts said. “Not even considering money, it could be an issue of safety. If Voldemort made himself at home there before, he might return if the Fidelius Charm is diluted. I wouldn’t want to sell to somebody just to have them become victims of his.”

“You said you’re a member of this group Dumbledore leads?” another aunt asked Dagmar. “Does that make you privy to any information about how close Voldemort is to finally being over and done with?”

Dagmar hummed. Every pair of eyes in the room was on her. “I don’t know specifics. We haven’t had much for meetings lately. They might still happen without Draco and I. Now that we don’t live in Britain anymore, we don’t have much to do with current happenings. We’ve just been providing information about anything that might have gone on while we were still at home. Erm. . .Voldemort is injured. Dumbledore figures that losing Lucius Malfoy dealt a massive blow on top of that. Voldemort isn’t even showing signs of being in Britain anymore. Draco and I speak mostly to Harry Potter, since he’s training to be an Auror and this is his focus. He seems optimistic, although there’s no real saying when Voldemort might show up again. And if he does, what’ll happen.”

Everyone considered that quietly afterward.

“Well,” an uncle said, “I could be on the fence about moving forward with the sale. If someone’s finding some use for it and the market’s poor anyway, why don’t we just wait? We could get it ready in the meantime, then just sit on it. It’s not like it’s hurting us at all, despite just. . .you know. Erik died there. The family name is attached to the Death Eaters.”

“That could change if we allow the Order to use it for the rest of the war,” someone else agreed. “I think it would redeem Erik’s name. I’d heard something about him being coerced to join?”

“He was,” Dagmar confirmed. “It seems right now as though both my parents were. My mum was somehow involved with Voldemort’s dealings before she met dad, and he’s holding something over her that made it impossible not to recommit when he returned. I don’t know for sure that my mum expected Voldemort to come back. She might have been caught off-guard. My dad. . .well, you all know what he was like. He maybe thought he could help her get out. Then we could go back to the way things were.”

Dagmar dipped her head, embarrassed that the sentiment turned her eyes heavy. Håkon rubbed her back. Although comforting, it didn’t help Dagmar reel back on her emotions.

“Could we take a vote on holding off?” someone asked.

It was another unanimous decision, which ended the meeting. They summed up the decisions that came from it, most of it concerning Dagmar. She needed to get in touch with Dumbledore to find out the current status of the manor house, and then talk to Ron Weasley about the advocates gaining access.

Dagmar felt tired as she followed the flow of people out of the study. She looked around the family room to see where Draco had gotten to, and had to purse her lips to avoid grinning. He sat on a love seat with Nils. Nils had taken baby Else when Flor had to go into the meeting, but now the little girl was sitting on Draco’s lap. She had a hand gripped around one of his fingers, staring at it with her mouth formed like an O.

Flor beat Dagmar over there. As soon as Else saw Flor, she reached for her. Draco had to give the baby up, which left him looking a little disappointed. He perked up again when he spotted Dagmar.

“How was that?” he asked as Dagmar set her bum on the armrest next to him.

“About as good as could be expected,” Dagmar joked. “You made a new little friend, huh?”

“Er. . .” Brow wrinkled, Draco looked over where Nils now stood with Flor and Agneta. “Oh, yeah. Babies are pretty easy to make friends with.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Dagmar said with a chuckle. Many a baby had made strange with her at the hospital. “Sweet, though.”

Flor and Nils were in the process of saying goodbye to everyone before they headed home. They came back over to Dagmar and Draco briefly, and Dagmar surprised herself by agreeing so readily to the idea they would see each other again sometime. It was a similar story with other family members, the ones Dagmar had clicked best with saying they hoped she’d find more time in future to come around. Christmas was mentioned more than once.

In the end, the only ones left were Håkon, Agneta, and Agneta’s husband Mathias. Mathias excused himself after helping Agneta clean up the kitchen. Agneta put on a fresh pot of coffee and shrunk down the snacks she’d put out for the meeting onto one single platter. Dagmar picked at the sweet bars, fond of the lemon ones.

“I think that went pretty well, hey?” Agneta said as she brought coffee cups over to the kitchen island, where Dagmar, Draco, and Håkon had made themselves comfortable. “There were a couple I thought would argue for keeping the property because they’ve quite liked the income from it. Of course, every time I asked them if they were willing to move to Britain to mind the manor, they never responded.”

“Put up or shut up,” Håkon replied.

“Exactly.”

They kept on with casual conversation while the coffee finished brewing. Agneta brought the pot over and sat down. She smiled in a strained sort of way before heaving a short sigh.

“I’m glad you were willing to stay for a visit,” Agneta told Dagmar. “I wanted to meet you anyway, of course, but there’s definitely a lot unspoken between us. I’m well-aware I’ve done things that hurt you, and I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry. I wish I could say the same to your dad again, but. . .”

Dagmar shrugged. “I get why it happened. My mum, I mean. . .I really don’t get her. She’s made a lot of trouble for a lot of people. You were just trying to protect your brother. He was a good man.”

“How it affected you is my biggest regret about the whole thing.” Agneta slouched in her seat, the heel of her hand digging into her cheek. “I thought maybe I ought to just keep what I knew to myself. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I should have let Erik make his own decisions. I just didn’t want to see him hurt. Your mum was so nervous to meet us. I thought maybe she wasn’t being fully truthful.”

“She wasn’t,” Dagmar replied. “Even now, I’m just starting to find things out about her. It’s basically confirmed that she was a druid. I have some of the abilities that come with that. One of Draco’s coworkers actually pointed us in direction of a city where druids live. We’re planning on going there next weekend to see if we could potentially find anything out about her. Who knows, I might even have family there.”

“I never got a chance to say when we met before, but I was thinking about her being a druid afterward,” Håkon said. “I remember thinking her surname was weird. It makes more sense now.”

Dagmar’s stomach tumbled. “What was it? She never told me.”

“Frejasdottir.”

“Huh.”

“She really won’t tell you anything?” Agneta asked.

Dagmar shook her head, lips pressed.

“Hm.” Agneta rubbed her mouth. “You said in the meeting that she was up to something with Voldemort back before she met Erik? What business would a druid have with him?”

“Potter asked us to poke around Leidfall about means to immortality while we’re there, if we get the chance.” Dagmar touched Draco’s knee under the counter as thanks when he poured her some coffee. “He’s being mentored by the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor we had last year at school. She used to be the Head Auror down in the Balkans. She has a feeling Voldemort became a lich. If that’s the case and my mum was as close to him as she seems to be, she might’ve been the one to do it.”

“A lich?” Håkon narrowed an eye. “I’m not familiar.”

“Basically you remove your soul and put it into something else. So long as that object is intact, you can’t die.” Dagmar sipped her coffee. “Which could be why Voldemort came back after he tried to kill Potter along with his parents.”

“I see.”

“Ja, so. . .” Dagmar shrugged. “Thankfully that’s all for Potter to sort out. It’s all that him and Professor Parasca are focused on, so I hope they’re making some decent progress. We don’t hear from Potter very much lately. I think we’ve given him about all we can.”

“So you two were pretty close to it all?” Agneta looked back and forth between Dagmar and Draco. “Voldemort was using both your homes as his base, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, but thankfully we weren’t _too_ close,” Draco spoke up. “My mum for sure cushioned me against it. She would’ve never let my father involve me. She, er. . .” Draco glanced at Dagmar. “My father did end up sort of trying to involve us. My mum left him over it.”

“What happened?”

“I said in the meeting that Voldemort’s injured.” Dagmar chuckled mirthlessly. “I was the one that did it. He wanted to see me, so Mr. Malfoy brought me downstairs from where me and Draco were getting ready to head off for school. Voldemort maybe wanted to see how in-tune or whatever I was with my mum’s druid abilities. So I showed him. He got electrocuted. Deserved it too, for what he did to our family. Now all Potter has to do is finish him off.

“I know that’s kind of morbid,” Dagmar said when she realized the way Agneta and Håkon were looking at her. “I’m just done with the whole thing. I’m done with _him_. Maybe I wouldn’t be so angry if I still had a chance to have my dad, but he left me with nothing. Dad’s dead, Mum’s in prison. So. . .ja. That’s it.”

“Well, I hope we made it clear today that regardless of blood or what happened in the past, we consider you family,” Agneta told her. “Håkon and I—and Mathias and Ella—are the only ones that know you and Erik weren’t biologically related. Everyone knows I had a fallout with Erik and that I was completely at-fault. So long as you’re interested in having a relationship, you have a home here. You’re a Ramstad.”

“I appreciate that.” Dagmar smiled, although it was short-lived. “I won’t lie, it messed with me to know for sure Dad wasn’t my actual dad. I already suspected it before Uncle Håkon told me, but. . .ja. I was more than comfortable with the idea of him as my dad. I could never tell the difference if he thought of me as anything other than a biological daughter. He raised me from as early as I can remember. I was worried that maybe all of you wouldn’t really see me as his. I mean, we don’t have that relationship like I did with my dad. I felt like a niece just by blood, but without the blood, then who knows, you know?”

“Nei,” Agneta refuted. “To me personally, it’s like you were just adopted. Erik loved and raised you. That makes you family. Blood matters in ways, sure, but not here. Not to me.”

“Nor me.” Håkon rubbed Dagmar’s back again with a new smile. “The rest of the family doesn’t know, but I don’t think it would make a difference if they did.”

“It doesn’t matter to me in that case either,” Dagmar said. “I braced for everyone to treat me like an outsider, or like a black sheep because of everything to do with Voldemort. They didn’t, though.”

“You were a child. That was far from your fault. I just wish we’d had a relationship so that you had somebody to ask for help,” Agneta replied.

“I wish I’d reached out anyway.” Dagmar shrugged, poking at her lemon bar. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me. I guess I knew what could happen if it got found out. My parents were always in danger with Voldemort. Looking back, it’s really obvious. I didn’t even feel like I could talk to Dumbledore.”

“Well, that part of it is at least over,” Håkon said. “You’re home, now.”

“I feel like it.” Dagmar set a hand on Draco’s and squeezed. “We’ve made a home for ourselves in Bergen. That’s ultimately why I decided I was fine with selling the manor. It just wasn’t really ever home, so I don’t have that attachment to it. The first year we lived in Britain, I didn’t really want to be there because I missed Norway. And then the next seven years I was gone to Hogwarts. Norway’s home. I’m just glad Draco feels the same way.”

“Yep,” he said. “I haven’t really felt homesick at all. Everything that I’d miss in Britain, we still have here. My aunt and uncle come visit once in a while. So does our one mate from school. I’ve made a lot of new mates here too, so that helps.”

“Definitely.” Agneta beamed. “If you’re interested then, Håkon’s family and mine all get together the first Sunday every month for a family dinner. You’re more than welcome to come.”

“I’d like that,” Dagmar replied. “There might be times we won’t make it though, if it falls on a Sunday Draco works the evening.”

“You could still come.” Draco nudged her with a smirk.

In the end, Dagmar felt like it was a good day. She didn’t expect to be heading home in such a good mood, although was still tired from it. Draco intended to kip before heading to work at midnight, so Dagmar laid down with him.

“I’m really happy with how that went,” she said as they settled. “Maybe a bit surprised. I didn’t think I’d be so comfortable with Agneta.”

“I didn’t think you would be either.” Draco shrugged. “She seems pleasant enough, hey?”

“Ja.” Dagmar sighed. “I wonder if Dad was still alive and didn’t go to Azkaban with Mum, if he’d be open to having a relationship with them again.”

“Hard to say, but I think Agneta made a good point that had your mum lied to your dad and your dad was grateful to find out, she would’ve been seen as a helper in the situation.” Draco rubbed Dagmar’s hip under the cover. “But since your dad kept on doing his own thing and had the family that he wanted despite the interference, that’s what put Agneta in the wrong.”

“Mhm.” Dagmar gravitated closer for a kiss. “I’m starting to be able to think about the situation without my role in it. That’s a good sign, right? She didn’t do it to hurt me, and I can appreciate that.”

Draco kissed her again. “I’d say it’s a good sign. Means you’re more secure about the whole thing. Healing.”


	29. The Patriarch

“So, are you like. . .ever coming home?”

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron. Across the table from them, Hermione quietly snorted. Harry swallowed his mouthful. “Oh, you’re home often enough to know I haven’t been?”

Ron just shrugged with a smirk. “Just wouldn’t mind knowing somehow you’re at Pansy’s and not dead out in the street, or something.”

“I could pick up another pair of messengers,” Harry said. “Man, whoever made those things should really figure out how to message multiple people from just one. I’m starting to lose track of all the ones I have.”

“My mum and dad have that.” Hermione reached for another slice of pizza. “Have you seen those yet, Harry? Muggles carry telephones in their pockets now. You can send text messages with them if you don’t want to talk.”

“Clearly, they nicked the idea from us,” Ron said.

Although pleasantly full after a couple slices, Harry kept picking at his food as he, Ron, and Hermione caught up. Slight guilt nagged at Harry for neglecting his friendships while getting swept up with Pansy. He couldn’t really help it. The look Ron and Hermione shared when Harry confirmed he and Pansy had started fooling around had a hint of understanding to it. Harry felt better when Ron and Hermione had plenty to say about their last two weeks. They were busy too.

“So anything new going on at the office?” Hermione asked Harry.

“Not really.” Harry shrugged. “We’re back to waiting for something to fall into our laps. Hildegard’s about reached the end of her usefulness to us. The good news is that Lucius Malfoy confirmed what she said about a locket.”

Ron’s eyebrows leapt up. “He’s cooperating?”

“Sort of. He let it dangle for weeks. He hasn’t realized we already moved past that point. It’s nice in a way that we have some kind of assurance Hildegard is actually telling the truth.” Harry picked a pepperoni slice off his pizza to pop into his mouth. “Parasca and I are kind of moving focus away from the locket and Norheim for now. We’re gonna focus instead on Voldemort himself. Every Auror office in Europe is on high alert for anything strange at all, so we’re basically just running around looking into that.”

“It’s weird he’s so quiet,” Hermione said. “Do you think it’s possible he already died?”

“I don’t think so.” Harry shook his head. “It would never be that easy with him. Something will give soon. It’s been seven months since the last time he was active, if when he showed up at Ramstad Manor that one night even counts. He’s gone quieter for longer. _Way_ longer.”

It was slightly strange, but Harry was comfortable that he had a grasp on why things were the way they were. Voldemort had taken a beating from Dagmar, and Harry was starting to wonder now how Voldemort’s new body might factor in. It wasn’t one borne from nine months spent in a womb. He was magically regenerated. Harry had no real idea if that made Voldemort weaker or stronger. He was stronger in the sense that he now possessed Harry’s blood. Maybe too a blow like the one Dagmar dealt would’ve been fatal if Voldemort had no form of shield at all.

At this point, it was irrelevant. Could Voldemort recover from what happened? Harry was more interested in that than anything else. He borrowed a few books out of the Ministry library Monday to flip through when nothing else was going on. The boring way physiological texts were written pushed Harry’s eyes out of focus.

He decided instead to ask someone that might know: _Hey Dagmar, what do you know about nerve damage?_

Dagmar replied around three-thirty that afternoon: _That’s pretty broad. Depends how serious the damage is, where, etc._

_I’m trying to figure out if Voldemort could’ve bounced back after what you did to him. And if he could, how long it would take_

_Hm, that all depends too. I don’t know what effect it had on him, so without knowing the damage done it’s hard to say where he could go from there. It’s possible to heal nerves, but if they’re too damaged there’s nothing to be done. He was moving around in March, wasn’t he?_

_Not well, but yeah_

_He isn’t paralyzed, then. He might heal, but that’s a long road without help._

Nothing about it stuck out to Harry. He thanked Dagmar for the information and went back to everything else he was doing. It bugged Harry that Voldemort hadn’t fallen back to Fantomøy. It made the most sense based on what Harry knew of Voldemort’s inner circle. Where else could Voldemort have gone for a long-term hideout?

They still didn’t know who the other three Death Eaters were that had accompanied Voldemort the night Erik Ramstad died. He wondered if Wesley Nott had been amongst them. Harry had thought about approaching Mr. Nott, but Dumbledore deemed it best they not spook him. The letter Dumbledore received from Mr. Nott mid-September did little to temper Harry’s curiosity. Dumbledore had shown it to Harry and Kingsley the last time they saw one another, and let Harry copy it over to his notes:

_I received your message. The reason you thought I’d be interested in contact is true._

_I’m doing a job at the moment that cannot be compromised. It isn’t possible for me to leave or change anything I’m doing. He’s searching for something abroad, but I don’t know what. I’m not directly involved in that. Wish I could be more help, but even saying that much might be dangerous if this is intercepted._

_Best you don’t respond in order to minimize owl traffic between us._

If Mr. Nott was doing an important job for Voldemort right now, then it was possible he knew where Voldemort was hiding out. Harry had to force himself to let the urge go about going to Mr. Nott’s home in London and catching him on it. Then again, as Kingsley had pointed out, Mr. Nott hadn’t done enough yet to gain their trust. Confirming something they already knew and showing a willingness to feed information was promising. It didn’t automatically mean he switched sides.

Harry had the death of Erik Ramstad hanging over him as reminder of how things could go wrong. Whenever Harry started getting squirrelly and feeling like he needed to just do something rather than calculate it all beforehand, he looked beside him on the wall where he’d pinned the Daily Prophet’s front page from March 23rd. Hildegard blinked back at him as she held her prisoner board. Lucius Malfoy looked just as shocked. One wrong move, and everything could go to hell again.

All of it left Harry braindead at Tuesday’s end. He was more than content after grabbing dinner with Pansy to lounge with his eyes closed on her couch and listen to the evening radio shows on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Pansy sat leaned back against him while she knit herself a new hat for the coming chilly weather.

Pansy hummed along to the song playing, which was about the only thing keeping Harry from drifting off. His eye closest to Pansy cracked open. He pursed his lips as he considered the top of her head. His arm was around her middle for comfort’s sake, and he used it as opportunity to idly play with her navel piercing while enjoying her stomach’s soft skin. The clack of Pansy’s knitting needles slowed and she stopped humming when Harry dipped his fingertips past the waist of her leggings. Pansy shifted when they snuck in under her knickers next.

She chuckled and leaned her head back in a makeshift nuzzle as Harry circled his middle figure on her clit. “After something?”

He turned his nose into her hair. “Something.”

Harry was slowly growing used to being more bold when it came to Pansy. It was hard not to be when she was so encouraging and eager to reciprocate. If Pansy was willing to turn laying with her head in Harry’s lap into an impromptu blowjob, then Harry had little to worry about doing something wrong if he either stuck his hand down her knickers or pushed them aside with the intent of sneaking a taste. Sleeping over almost every night also granted a lot of opportunity for shenanigans. Harry found being tired the next morning worth it, although he and Pansy had started going to bed earlier than usual to accommodate it.

Pansy’s head lolled as Harry mouthed her neck. Her breath growing heavier along with her wetness was a pretty good sign to Harry they ought to move things over to the bedroom. Carrying on ignoring his own arousal despite all the groping along the way, Harry settled on his stomach with his head between Pansy’s legs. Harry noticed a couple times that, regardless of her heavy-lidded gaze, Pansy looked thoughtful as well.

“Something up?” Harry asked when he took a break.

Pansy ran her fingers through Harry’s hair. “Thoughts on shagging?”

Were Harry’s erection not pinned against the bed, he figured it would’ve twitched. “All for it, but I don’t know if I’d last very long right now.”

“We could always do it again after you come back around,” Pansy suggested with a chuckle. “I’m all about logistics.”

Harry laughed. “Sure, then.”

“You took Natalise Potion this morning, right?” Pansy asked. “I’m coming up on twenty-four hours. Wouldn’t want to risk it.”

“Yep, I’m good.”

With that established, Harry’s heart picked up a bit as Pansy softened with a fond smile. “Come here, then.”

Pansy had gotten Harry down to his pants before they made it to the bed. Her fingertips slipped into the waistband as soon as Harry was close enough for it. Harry sat back up on his knees and moved as needed for his pants to come off. Pansy eyed him with pressed lips and a long gaze. Harry could see the temptation to take him into her mouth since she was in proximity, but that would only further shorten what they were trying to do.

Harry meant to sit up again once he’d relaxed so that he could put their bodies together, but Pansy reached down between them to take a guiding hold.

“Ready?” Pansy asked.

“Yep.” More than, really, Harry thought.

Pansy shifted underneath Harry, using his shoulder as leverage to tilt her pelvis up. Harry’s breath slowed when the head of him was squeezed in wet warmth. It spread as he sunk in. Every part of Harry’s mind north of his brain stem stilted. Pansy squeezed his shoulder, similarly breathless. “All right?”

“Uh huh,” Harry managed.

Pansy chuckled, and Harry joined in with a snort to start. He bent his neck to kiss her. Even just a peck on top of everything else was an enormous amount of stimulation. Harry’s still-pounding heart made it so that he had to at least start breathing again.

“You can move, you know,” Pansy murmured against Harry’s lips.

“I’m afraid to,” Harry admitted with a new laugh. “This isn’t gonna last.”

“That’s okay.” Pansy wrapped her arms around Harry. “The night’s still young.”

It might have only lasted a few minutes, but they were pretty great minutes at that. It was enough time for Harry to get into the swing of it as basic instinct took over. Harry’s head felt too heavy to mind on top of everything else assaulting his senses, so he ended up with his face against her neck. He always enjoyed the sounds Pansy made, but it was so much better when it was right next to his ear.

Pansy ran her nails lightly over Harry’s scalp and back as he tried to find his mind.

“Yeah, I’d like to do that again once I come back around,” Harry told her.

Pansy snickered. “Me too.”

“How can I make it better for you?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Takes me more time than that. Even without finishing, it’s nice. I love having you inside me.”

They ended up staying in bed after Pansy nipped into the toilet to clean up. Although Harry expected the second go, the third one was a pleasant surprise. It left Harry completely drained of energy. He slept better than he had in a long while, and the night’s experience carried over heavily in his mind to morning. Harry had a hard time leaving for work, pushing it until the last minute. His lips were swollen from snogging. The image of Pansy riding him, leaned back with her hands on his thighs while Harry thumbed her clit to orgasm, put him on autopilot toward the Ministry lifts. Harry couldn’t think too hard on how that felt around him without risking getting hard.

As Harry got off the lift at Level 2 and headed toward the Auror office, his mind tapped back into some kind of functional mode since his environment had changed. A middle-aged man dressed in nice robes leaned back against the wall next to the office’s doorway. His arms were folded. Harry slowed when he realized the man was looking at him with a critical gaze. Harry thought there was something familiar about him. When he got close enough to the man, his heart sunk. Harry knew those hazel eyes very well.

The man straightened up as Harry neared. “Harry Potter?”

Harry nodded slowly, bracing himself. “Yes.”

The man extended a hand. “Cassius Parkinson.”

Harry took it, glad he hadn’t started sweating too badly yet. “Er. . .everything all right?”

“Just hoped to have a word with you,” Mr. Parkinson said with a jerk of his head further down the hallway.

Harry hesitated before following. This was about the last way he wanted to meet Pansy’s father.

“I won’t keep you long,” Mr. Parkinson drawled in a way that reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy. He lifted his nose the same way too as a means of looking down at Harry, since they were too close in height for him to naturally do so. “This is about Pansy.”

“What about her?”

“She won’t listen to reason, but maybe you will.” Mr. Parkinson folded his arms again. “I doubt I need to explain how dangerous it is to be associated with you. I would much rather not see my only child get caught up in all that. You-Know-Who is notorious for getting what he wants by threatening those close to his goal. I’m sure Pansy has been privy to sensitive information that someone like Bellatrix Lestrange would love to torture out of her. It doesn’t bother you that Pansy’s put herself in that position? Or is it something that even occurred to you?”

Harry blinked. “Er. . .”

“Surely it has,” Mr. Parkinson pressed.

“We, er. . .” Harry felt about half his size. “We talked about it.”

“Comforting.” Mr. Parkinson’s flippant tone said otherwise. “Perhaps you ought to some more, before there are feelings. You’re both young, perhaps a bit too idealistic. You could live with yourself if anything ever happened to her?”

The answer to that question was obvious, although Harry hesitated to provide it. “No.”

“Then we’re in agreement,” Mr. Parkinson replied. “If you care about her, you’ll see the right thing to do. If you _don’t_ care, just let her go anyway. She deserves better than that.”

The toast Harry ate for breakfast wasn’t sitting very well. He didn’t know what else to say. Mr. Parkinson seemed just fine with that. He left, the sound of his shoes against the floor fading away around the corner. Harry waited until Mr. Parkinson was on a lift before numbly making his way back to the Auror office. His mood was at the complete opposite end of the spectrum as when he’d first gotten here. It couldn’t go any lower if Harry tried.

“Morning,” Parasca greeted him in her usual cheerful way. “Little late, aren’t we?”

“I got waylaid in the hall.” Harry took his seat. “Sorry.”

Ambushed was perhaps a better descriptor, or accosted. Harry looked around his desk. None of it felt familiar due to his lack of ability to focus. He couldn’t remember at all what his plan had been for today.

He ended up pissing around on autopilot, going through the books he’d left himself on what kind of physical condition Voldemort might potentially be in. Harry also tried to think up anything he might like Dagmar and Malfoy to look into while they were in Leidfall. They were going on Friday.

Normally, Harry frequently checked the messenger he shared with Pansy when he sat like this in the office. He found it helped him focus better, since it forced him to take a small mental break and step back from what he worked on. That wasn’t the case today. Pansy had left him a nice message before she headed to Diagon Alley. Harry should be ecstatic about it, riding somewhere up around the clouds, but he didn’t even know if he was in the right state of mind to reply. It didn’t feel genuine at all to pretend as if everything was all right. Harry also didn’t want to have a discussion about this over messenger. It deserved their full attention.

Harry figured he couldn’t put off saying anything to Pansy once lunch time came around. He debated how best to put it so that it didn’t hang over her for the afternoon.

 _Sorry, something happened this morning that needed my attention,_ he wrote. _It’s put me a bit off-kilter._

_Aw, I’m sorry. Do you want me to bring you some lunch or anything?_

_It’s okay_ , Harry replied. _I’ll see you later. I might be a few minutes late._

_I could grab you some food and we could just meet at my place?_

_Sure_

_What’re you in the mood for, then?_

Harry figured he handled that well enough, but he had a feeling it would come back to bite him in the arse. Pansy wouldn’t be expecting this. Harry himself resented being caught off-guard. He didn’t want to do the same to Pansy, but what choice did he have?

Growing dread stewed in Harry’s stomach as the day progressed. He didn’t even feel well enough to eat lunch, nor did an appetite find him in the afternoon. Harry stayed an extra fifteen minutes at his desk to make up for his late arrival. He sighed to himself when there was nothing else for it.

When Harry stepped out of the fireplace at Pansy’s, there was a brown bag on the table. The black flats with little flowers on the toes that Pansy wore to work were on the mat beside the ice box. While Harry slipped his shoes off, Pansy came out of the bedroom.

“Hey.” She straightened her jumper. “I only just got here too.”

Harry returned her hug. Pansy leaned up for a kiss. Harry felt something shift in her. Sure enough, Pansy’s brow was furrowed afterward as she studied him.

“That bad of a day?” she asked.

“Just, er. . .”

“Is it something you can’t talk about?”

Harry’s nerves twisted with nausea. “Something we need to talk about, actually.”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Did something happen to someone I know?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “It doesn’t have anything to do with work at all. Your dad came by the office.”

Pansy’s mouth pulled down at the corners. In the silence that followed, Harry heard her swallow.

“What for?” Pansy tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled toward the end. She let go of Harry and took a step back.

“To talk to me.” Harry shrugged off his coat, followed by his suit jacket. “Basically he told me to dump you.”

“Oh.” Pansy toyed her fingers together in front of her stomach. “But you wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, I don’t want to.” Harry studied her as something occurred to him. “You didn’t ask me why he doesn’t like us dating.”

“It’s not like it takes much to figure out with him,” Pansy replied. “He’s been hounding me too. I just ignore it. I never imagined he would go to _you_ like that.”

“Can’t say I was expecting it either.”

Pansy’s chin dipped down to her chest, reminding Harry of how small he’d felt while talking to Mr. Parkinson. “You didn’t exactly say either that you’re not going to dump me.”

“I said I don’t want to.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t anyway.”

With a sigh, Harry ran his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t know what to do. Your dad made a good point that I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’d never forgive myself if Voldemort used you to get to me, or to hurt me.”

“We already went over this,” Pansy said. “The very first date. If it bothered you that much, you should’ve called it then. From what you’ve told me, things are getting better. Aren’t they? The only reason you’re even thinking about this is because of my father. That’s what he’s like. He knows exactly what to say to get his way.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t right.”

Pansy’s face fell even further. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s things I already knew. I can’t deny that,” Harry said. “It _is_ a risk to be with me. It might even be more dangerous now, if Voldemort feels like things are out of his control. If he can’t do anything about what he’s up to right now, he could decide on a knut that I’m the prime target again.”

“So what, that’s it, then?” Pansy’s eyes started to shine. “Just like that?”

Torn as he was, Harry couldn’t confirm it. He didn’t want this, not at all. He felt sick to end something that made him so happy, but what _would_ he do if anything bad ever happened to Pansy? How could he gamble her life on a chance?

“Just say it.” Pansy trembled, her tone sharp but not in the affectionate way Harry had adjusted to. “Just say it and go.”

“I can’t.”

“Well, don’t expect _me_ to do it for you!” Pansy snapped. “If you want to be all righteous about it, then don’t be a coward. Say it. Tell me it’s over.”

Harry’s tongue was stuck against doing so. It filled him right to the brim with dread to even think about facing tomorrow alone.

“I can’t,” was all he could say.

“Then you’d better go home and think really hard about it,” Pansy told him.

Harry idly nodded. He didn’t want to go, but this wasn’t his place to stay if Pansy didn’t want him there. It felt like another defeat to fold his jackets over his arm and slip his feet back into his shoes.

Grimmauld Place was quiet when Harry apparated into the parlour. As he headed for the stairs, he heard some noise in the kitchen. Harry was relieved to find Ron down there. He was dishing himself up some dinner.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ron said.

Harry just grunted and draped his jackets over the back of a chair at the table.

“Sounds like you’re not home by choice.”

“No,” Harry said shortly.

“Had a fight, did you?”

“I don’t know if you could call it that exactly.”

“What happened?”

As Harry recounted his conversation with Pansy’s father, he felt validated that Ron wore an expression of complete horror. It slowly transitioned into a grimace as Harry moved on to what had happened later at Pansy’s. Harry’s chest hurt, as if he’d taken a kick from a hippogriff.

“So what’re you going to do?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know.” Seated at the table, both of Harry’s fists dug into his cheeks. “I don’t even know why it’s bothering me. It’s not like her dad is telling me something new. I told Pansy our first date that she needs to know what she’s getting into, being around me. She’s right. If it really bugged me, I should’ve called it right then and there. I should’ve said I’d catch up to her when this is all over or something. I liked her, though. I wanted to give this a try. It works really well, and I don’t want to give it up. Her dad said he wanted to catch me on it before there’s feelings, but it’s a bit bloody late for that.”

“At this point, yeah.” Ron sat down across from Harry with his plate of food. “So what changed, then? You never met her dad before, did you?”

Harry shook his head.

“ _Is_ Pansy in danger, from what you know at work? You know way more now than you did back in August.”

“That’s the thing, anything could change in a moment,” Harry said. “Back in the summer, I got caught up thinking that if that’s the case, then why bother putting my life on hold until Voldemort’s gone? Pansy’s dad’s right. What if maybe Voldemort doesn’t show up, but Bellatrix Lestrange? It wouldn’t matter how competent Pansy is. People like my parents die. Your uncles. Cedric, Sirius. It doesn’t matter how prepared you are. When they come for you, you either luck out or you don’t.”

Ron considered Harry with a thoughtful hum. “That’s true for anyone, though. When it comes to Pansy, it might be too late for her not to be used against you. Even if you broke up now, you’d still do anything to help her if she was in trouble. That’s just the kind of person you are. You-Know-Who knows that.”

“I don’t know that that makes me feel any better.” Harry’s insides squirmed.

Ron shrugged. “You can’t control what You-Know-Who does, is what I’m saying. Why make yourself miserable on his behalf when it won’t even protect her? You can at least control _that_. And you’re getting closer to him all the time. Just think of it as extra motivation that when you get the chance, you go for it. Don’t hesitate.”

Harry idly nodded.

“I’m not in much different a position than Pansy,” Ron said through a mouthful of meat loaf. “You-Know-Who knows me. He knows my family. I work in Diagon Alley too, out with the public like that. I don’t worry about it, and I definitely wouldn’t let you ditch me. You can’t make that decision for me or Hermione or Dumbledore or anyone, so you can’t make it for Pansy either. Sounds like she’s got enough people like that in her life anyway.”

“Yeah.”

Harry’s heart started to come through the dull ache in his chest. It was picking up with each passing second. He pushed out his chair and headed for the kitchen exit. Harry really hoped that Pansy was willing to see him again so soon. He had no doubts he’d upset her horribly, whether that left her sad, angry, or both.

The flat looked much the same as Harry apparated in front of the fireplace. Harry listened. It was quiet spare a muted sniffle coming from the bedroom. The slightly ajar door creaked before Pansy appeared. Her face was blotchy, and her eyes bloodshot. She sniffled again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I’m a prat.”

“Are you not dumping me, then?”

“No.”

It didn’t move her as much as Harry hoped. He supposed this big of a cock-up would require a lot more than that to fix it.

He shifted on his feet. “Can I stay and we’ll sort it out?”

“Yeah,” Pansy quietly replied. “Just a minute.”

She headed into the toilet and came out with a small wad of tissue in her hand.

“Are you hungry at all?” Harry asked.

“No.” She dropped down onto the couch.

“Okay.”

Harry could feel that when his appetite returned, it would come back hard. It still wasn’t really present with so many things up in the air, so he resigned to leave his food in the ice box for now and join Pansy in the living room. He wanted to hold or touch her. Since Pansy maintained some distance, Harry took that as she wasn’t ready yet. He hated seeing her so upset. Not only was _he_ the culprit, he couldn’t do anything to comfort her.

“You said your dad’s been hounding you too?” Harry hesitantly started them off.

Pansy nodded, gaze down again. “He always does, really. About this. . .he told me you’re the last man I should be getting myself involved with.”

“How _long’s_ he been hounding you?”

“Since he heard we were going together.”

“Which was. . .?”

“The first week you were gone to Trondheim.” Pansy sniffled and rubbed at an irritated eye with her tissue. “He’d heard while shopping that I was seeing someone. He wanted to know who. I knew that no matter who it was, he’d have something to say about it. He’s weird about me dating. I think he was really invested in the idea of having Draco as a son-in-law, and he’s not really moving past that. I don’t think it had anything to do with Draco himself,” Pansy quickly said with a glance at Harry, “just that he wanted me to be with someone he’d picked. Draco didn’t spend a _lot_ of time at our house, but enough. I think because we were betrothed, my father tolerated us being alone in my room and stuff. Then when Draco dumped me, I mean. . .I guess I kind of get why it bothered my father so much. He’d trusted Draco not to shag and run, even though it was a lot more complicated than just that.”

“Right.” Harry guessed he got it too, even if it didn’t make him feel any better. “Is that why you moved out, then?”

“The final push.” Pansy played with her tissue. “I was tired of him deciding everything for me. I’m just tired of people in general doing that. I knew if I stayed at home, it would just be constant. I didn’t trust him not to take back the money he gave me. I think he tried to, you know. He asked one day when he came by the shop why the goblins gave him such a runaround on the account.”

Harry grimaced. “Does he come by a lot?”

“Every couple of days. Just wants to ‘make sure I’m still alive’.”

Harry had a feeling Mr. Parkinson didn’t mean that the affectionate way Mrs. Weasley did if she ever popped in on Harry and Ron. “How come you never told me?”

Pansy’s bottom lip trembled. Her dried, irritated eyes managed to find some moisture to sum up. “I didn’t want you to feel bad, or like I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“I would’ve way rather known than be blindsided,” Harry said. “Not that I’m saying I’m not a prat for letting him get to me like that. If I knew it was coming, I could’ve sorted all those thoughts out beforehand rather than get that much of a guilt trip.”

“He gets under your skin.” Pansy sniffled. “It’s like a special ability for him. He knows exactly what to say, and not in a whole lot of words. I ignore him because there’s danger with _anyone_. Draco was the safe choice before You-Know-Who came back, and he left me feeling used and worthless. Any other man might be a creep. He might be a woman-beater. Unless he was a Muggle or a Squib, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. I’m not exactly built for that.”

Pansy gestured at herself. In the same vein, Harry could appreciate the weight of Pansy’s trust, that she thought nothing of being alone with him, or inviting Harry into her home and bed.

“I’m sorry too.” Pansy turned more on the couch to face Harry. “I thought I could handle him on my own. I really didn’t think he’d ever show up at your work.”

“It’s okay,” Harry told her. “At least now I’m prepared for if he does it again.”

Pansy pulled a face. “I really hope he doesn’t, but he might if he felt like you listened to him.”

Dread crept in on Harry, but it wasn’t something he needed to deal with tonight. He rested a hand on Pansy’s knee and rubbed it with his thumb. “We okay, then?”

“I think so.” Pansy sniffled again. “I really didn’t expect to have to deal with this today after how good last night was. My whole day, I was floating about it.”

“Yeah, I had a similar crash this morning.” Harry’s stomach growled loudly enough that Pansy snorted. “Er, didn’t even have an appetite. Until now, I guess.”

“Will you grab mine too?” Pansy asked when Harry headed to the kitchen. “I’m going to wash up and hope this is the end of it.”

She headed for the toilet. Harry reheated both their food with his wand and had them set up at the table when Pansy returned. Her face looked less red, although it lingered in her eyes. Harry pulled her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head before resting his cheek there.

“I’m sorry I dropped everything on you like that,” Harry said. “I was dreading it all day because I knew I couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want to say anything in the messenger because I didn’t want you dreading it either.”

“If you were aware my father might confront you, you would’ve just been able to say it happened and we could move on.” Pansy nuzzled his chest. “It wasn’t all your fault.”

“You know I don’t want to end it and all that too, right?” Harry asked. “I worry about keeping you safe, but there’s more I can do than just not be part of your life.”

“Mhm.” Pansy looked up with a smile.

Harry felt lighter on this side of having survived their first fight. He was still subject to random flushes of anxiety just because of how quickly his day had been ruined by this. As he and Pansy ate, Harry started to wonder if he was the only one. Pansy remained quieter than usual.

“All right?” he tried.

“Yeah.” It came with a slight sigh. “I’m just trying to get over it and all. A lot of bad feelings came back today. If nothing’s changing, then there’s no point feeling them. I can’t help it, though.”

“Feelings like what?”

Pansy pressed her lips briefly, pushing some of her rice around in the takeaway container. “I don’t know, just. . .I came into this with trust issues. The only other relationship I’ve ever had ended when Draco showed up out of the blue and dumped me after everything had been fine. After you left, I started wondering why this keeps happening, and is it going to _keep_ happening? I’m trying to let it go since you came back, but it’s a stubborn one. Draco doing it to me cocked me up for a long time. Maybe I’m not totally healed up from it.”

That feeling of being kicked returned to Harry’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Pansy sighed through her nose. “I know everything’s fine, but I still feel kind of worried.”

“What can I do?”

“It’ll probably just go away as we get back on track.” Pansy rested a hand on Harry’s. “There was only so much I could do about this when I wasn’t seeing anybody. How comfortable I usually am with you says a lot. I just need some reassurance.”

Harry did his best toward that for the rest of the evening. They ended up in Pansy’s room. Laying in bed together was a good means to feel close, even if they didn’t end up having sex. Harry was more than content to lay flush with Pansy, her leg hooked over his waist while they occasionally gently snogged as punctuation to their conversation. Pansy seemed more relaxed by the time they got ready for sleep. She was definitely content to drift off with her back pressed against Harry and with his arm around her middle.

The morning went similarly to the previous one. Harry stuck around Pansy’s until the last minute that would make him late. He rushed a little bit anyway to get to the Auror office. A wave of anxiety washed through his innards when, just like yesterday, Mr. Parkinson was waiting for him. He studied Harry much the same way, perhaps looking for signs that Harry was no longer attached to his daughter.

“I won’t take much of your time,” Harry said, his heart pounding as he stopped in the office doorway beside Mr. Parkinson. “You can mind your own business.”

Mr. Parkinson’s eyebrows jumped before Harry carried on toward his cubicle. Harry took a deep breath to have been so disrespectful to a man he was otherwise supposed to try and impress.

After making sure he wasn’t late and greeting Parasca good morning, Harry brought out his messenger to Pansy for just a quick moment: _Your dad was here again this morning. Basically told him to sod off in about as many words_

Harry checked for a reply later when he had a chance. Pansy had written: _Oh really? I bet he didn’t like that._ She’d had time to send another one after it while Harry worked: _Omg he was outside the shop too when I got here. Absolutely FUMING, couldn’t believe how rude you are_

Harry felt less sure about what he’d said with that. _Sorry_

_For what? It was great_

_If you say so,_ Harry replied. _I’ll have my work cut out coming back from that if he ever decides to give me a chance_

_Either way, I appreciate you sticking up for me :)_

Harry felt better for that, at least. It was definitely more important to him that Pansy feel like Harry was on her side. However dull his workday was, Harry had that sense of accomplishment to ride it all through on.


	30. The Matriarch

With her rucksack open on the dining room table, Dagmar went down her packing list one more time to make sure she had everything she needed. Draco did the same thing, his rucksack beside hers. He was preoccupied in the kitchen, ensuring he had enough food. Big Swede figured the two of them would reach Leidfall by late afternoon, and then have to camp on their way back out. Draco had borrowed Andreja’s tent.

Dagmar stifled a yawn. It was still pitch black outside. “I’m good. You?”

“Think so.” Draco put a bag of cashews in the front pouch of his bag with the rest of his food. “Got enough water?”

“More than I’m expecting to drink.”

“Perfect.”

Dagmar squeezed Draco’s upper arm in passing as she headed for the stairs. She’d packed extra clothes, careful that none had any sort of metal, but had yet to dress for departure. Shoes and jackets had made attire tricky, since all of Dagmar’s had some kind of metal in them. So did Draco’s, aside from his work clothes. Dagmar ended up borrowing some spare leather armour and boots from the reserve. She felt a bit like an imposter as she pulled that on along with one of Draco’s cloaks.

Draco did a poor job of masking a smirk when he joined her in the bedroom. “You’d make a hot ranger.”

“I guess based on that, I now have a backup career choice.”

Draco grew serious again when his gaze reached her hand. “Oh, you won’t be able to wear your ring.”

“Right.” Dagmar pursed her lips to have to take it off. Other than when she bathed, it didn’t leave her finger. “It’s probably for the best. Out in the woods is the last place I’d want to lose it. I feel so naked without it, though.”

“At least you get to wear yours at all,” Draco pointed out as Dagmar put the ring in her jewelry box.

Dagmar looked Draco over in turn for any signs of metal he’d missed. “I think we’re good, ja? Must be getting close to six.”

Den Sultne Jotunn was the quietest Dagmar had ever seen it before. The lobby was completely empty spare the night clerk. A couple early risers were in the restaurant drinking coffee, whom Dagmar eyed with envy.

Big Swede waited by the fountain. He was at the same energy level as Draco, since both of them had just finished their last night shift the previous morning.

“Ready to go?” Big Swede asked them.

“Yep,” Draco replied.

“I might grab a coffee first, if that’s all right,” Dagmar said with a thumb pointed at the restaurant.

“Do your thing,” Big Swede told her. “My cousin isn’t expecting us ’til six-thirty.”

Dagmar touched the back of her hand to Draco’s forearm. “Did you want one?”

“Sure.”

The server was kind enough to provide a lid to Dagmar’s paper cup, so only a little slopped on her fingers as she flooed to Stockholm. She, Draco, and Big Swede stood in line for departures long enough for Draco’s brow to furrow. Swedish speakers surrounded them. Although Dagmar did fine understanding most of it, Draco was struggling.

“Think that’s bad, try listening in on a couple of Danes,” Big Swede joked.

From Stockholm, they jumped north to Umeå. The floo arrivals area here was just as empty as Bergen. It was located underground, with skylights for windows. Stairs led them up to a city park. Dawn was just touching the eastern horizon.

“Hej!” someone called from about thirty feet away. Leaned against a navy blue Muggle car on the side of the street, who Dagmar assumed was Felix waved at them. He checked his watch as they walked over. “We might as well get going, eh? I filled my tank, got some smokes—I’m ready if you’re ready. You _look_ ready.”

He glanced over Dagmar and Draco before putting out a hand. “Felix.”

“Dagmar,” Dagmar introduced herself, followed by Draco.

“Let’s get going, then. We got a couple hours of driving ahead of us.” Felix waved his wand at the boot of his car, and something clicked as it popped open. “Nobody’s hungry or anything, eh? Have to use the toilet?”

They all still had coffee, and Dagmar was good for now otherwise. She and Draco put their rucksacks in the boot, and then headed for the car’s backseat. Draco snorted at Big Swede, since he basically had to crawl into the front. The top of his head brushed the car roof.

“Northern Sweden is _famous_ for its potholes,” Felix told Big Swede when he dropped into the driver’s seat. “I’ll show you my favourite ones.”

“And here I was starting to wonder why I only see you at Christmas,” Big Swede replied with a laugh.

After a brief explanation of what the seat belts were and why Dagmar and Draco had to wear them, they were off. Felix indeed hit a couple potholes, each of which earned him a back-swung fist against his shoulder from Big Swede after his head collided with the ceiling. Between laughing at them and drinking her coffee, Dagmar was starting to finally wake up. The light of impending sunrise followed them from behind as they headed west, eventually beaming in through the car’s back window shortly before eight.

Something pulled on Dagmar. The longer the drive wore on through the Swedish backcountry, the stronger it grew. They were going too far west at one point. Dagmar could feel the sensation pulling her to the right. It left her edgy.

“Sorry, do we need to go more north?” she eventually had to say.

Felix laughed. “Feel that, do you? Don’t worry, road just doesn’t go straight. We’ll be turning north here in about ten, fifteen minutes.”

Dagmar felt much better once they did. Fifteen minutes again after that, they turned off pavement completely onto an unnamed side road. Although the road dipped left and right, Dagmar felt now they were heading generally straight toward where they needed to be.

The forest was getting thicker and older. Felix slowed as they came around a corner on the road. It ended abruptly, as if the forest itself had eaten it. Felix killed the engine.

“Well, this is it,” he said. “Road goes no further. Gotta hoof it from here.”

Dagmar unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out with everyone else. Big Swede stretched with a loud groan as Felix opened up the boot again. Dagmar put her cloak back on before her rucksack. They stood with Felix when Big Swede returned from behind some bushes.

“Guess we’ll see you here tomorrow,” Felix told them. “We’ll come out mid-afternoon. We don’t see you by five, we’ll send up some sparks. Just respond in kind so we know you’re still alive and all. We’ll guide you back this way.”

“All right.” Dagmar nodded. “Thanks for the ride. We’ll see you soon.”

Dagmar and Draco headed toward the forest edge. Even though it was only about twenty feet away from where they’d parked, the car’s engine sounded muffled. Dagmar stopped to watch Felix and Big Swede leave. Once they rounded the corner, it was like they vanished from existence.

“Guess it’s just us,” Draco said.

“Guess so.” Dagmar turned back toward the forest. “Come on.”

The forest was just as quiet, at least to the ears. It had a hum to it, as if energy vibrated through the air against Dagmar’s skin and down into her blood. She listened regardless. There were birds, but they didn’t chirp as randomly as birds tended to in Dagmar’s experience. They were almost like whispers. As Dagmar and Draco passed under some tree canopies, she spotted three ravens sitting on a branch above.

Something occurred to Dagmar further down the path. She leaned closer to Draco. “I don’t think those were actually birds.”

Draco took a deep breath. “Yeah, I feel like we’re being watched.”

Dagmar touched one of her pockets to ensure her wand was still there. She doubted she’d need it, but it was a thing of comfort. Between feeling like several eyes were on them and then the pull inward, Dagmar’s edginess worsened. She felt like she stood on the edge of a cliff and looked down into darkness below, fighting the temptation to walk right over. It left her quiet.

They stopped after a couple hours for a food and pee break. Draco touched Dagmar’s arm as she gazed long and deep into the forest, making her jump.

“All right?” he asked.

“Ja, just. . .” A shiver ran down Dagmar’s spine. “It feels weird here to me. Do you feel it at all?”

“Not much different than any other forest.” Draco shrugged. “When we’re on the ground at Jotunheimen, I keep my eyes peeled for jotunn and animals and stuff. There’s nothing really here, though. I would’ve expected to see something by now.”

“There are birds,” Dagmar pointed out.

“‘Birds’,” Draco repeated with his fingers in air-quotes.

They kept on. When Dagmar thought about what she had expected from today, she figured she and Draco would just make a day of the hike like any other they went on. They chatted most of the time there, but not now. There were even times that Draco would say something to Dagmar and the English sounded foreign to her. It wasn’t registering unless she really concentrated on it.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmar said when they stopped again to rest. “We must be getting close now.”

“Must be.” Draco chewed on some dried mango. “No offence, but you’re acting weird.”

“I know. That’s why I’m apologizing.” Dagmar rubbed Draco’s arm. “I’m not much for company, am I?”

Draco shrugged. “That wasn’t the point in coming here. At least we know we’re in the right place, if you’re feeling it like that.”

“Ja.”

They walked for another hour or so when they reached an actual break in the forest. Other than dim natural light, Dagmar almost forgot there was a sun somewhere above them. Something moved on the other side of the small clearing. Dagmar grabbed Draco’s wrist to stop him.

A white wolf emerged from the underbrush. It had icy blue eyes, its gaze going back and forth between them. Dagmar bent at the waist along with Draco, head down and pounding heart audible as she carefully listened ahead.

“Your name?”

The question came in what Dagmar assumed was Druidic. She understood the meaning around the whistle amongst the hisses. Dagmar lifted her head and blinked at the man that now stood where the wolf had been. He wore furs similar to that of the wolf, along with leather armour not entirely unlike Dagmar and Draco’s. His eyes were pale blue, equally as critical as when he was a wolf. Dagmar mentally named him White Wolf, which might not be too far off.

“Dagmar.” She stood up straight again. Six other men dressed like him emerged from the trees.

White Wolf shook his head. “Your clan name.”

“Er. . .” Dagmar made an educated guess. “Frejasdottir.”

White Wolf studied her, unreadable, as he approached. “And who is this? He’s not one of us.”

There wasn’t really a great word for it in Parseltongue. “He’s my mate.”

Draco shifted as White Wolf stared at him next. Eventually, White Wolf nodded. “Come.”

Dagmar touched Draco’s wrist to compel him onwards. He followed close behind, eyeing the spears and arrows carried by the sentinels. When Dagmar and Draco passed the other six by, they closed in behind. Dagmar didn’t like it either, but she kept her gaze straight ahead anyway. If they meant any harm, Dagmar liked to think they would’ve proven that already. Dagmar and Draco wouldn’t have gotten this far.

The hum in Dagmar’s blood that had pulled her along all day seemed to turn audible. It sounded like a low horn in the core of Dagmar’s inner ear. She looked at Draco to see if he possibly heard it, but he just looked unsure overall.

The forest contorted around them as if the trees grew strangely, and then Dagmar realized they wrapped around each other in ways that resembled rudimentary buildings. Once Dagmar noticed, it was like civilization surrounded her again. People peered out from under the structures, and soon were just walking along the clean forest floor. They all stilled, staring at Dagmar and Draco. More space separated the trees as their escort headed toward the centre. The trees were broad at the base, and had structures weaved into their canopies as well.

Dagmar’s feet slowed as she stared at the largest tree of them all, which felt like some sort of centre to Leidfall. It was untouched, gnarly, and wild all the way to the top. Everything—the calling, the sense of pull, the hum—came from it. This close to it, Dagmar heard something like whispers. She jumped a little when one of the sentinels behind her prodded her on.

White Wolf turned to face Dagmar and Draco as they stopped outside an adjacent structure. “This is the Elder Hall. Our Matriarch is the one who will address you. Your business is with her.”

Dagmar furrowed her brow. “You know our business?”

“No,” he replied, “but she might. Wait here.”

Dagmar looked at Draco. Since he couldn’t understand in the first place, he had no better idea at all what that might mean. He kept looking around, uncertain.

“Is this too weird for you?” Dagmar whispered in English.

“I don’t feel welcome, is all.”

“Me neither. We’ll make this as quick as possible.”

“Do what you have to and all, I’m just. . .” Draco shrugged.

Dagmar rubbed Draco’s upper arm. She wasn’t comfortable either. The magic that clogged the air was so loud to her. Although Dagmar had been drawn here, she couldn’t wait to leave. She missed silence and the peace that came with that.

A bunch of giggling sounded from behind a tree trunk about fifteen feet away. Heads popped out. They were all girls, ranging in age from about five to fourteen. All dressed more nicely than the other inhabitants. The leader seemed to be one around ten years old. She had a head of bright red hair and sky blue eyes. Even at this distance, Dagmar could see how all her exposed skin was heavily dotted with freckles. The girl’s impish grin slackened as she looked at Dagmar. Dagmar understood why. She recognized the girl too, but she couldn’t say from where. Dagmar struggled to bring any memories forward. They sat just out of reach of the tip of her tongue.

The moss curtains that functioned as a door to the Elder Hall was pushed aside again. As soon as the kids spotted White Wolf, they giggled anew and were gone. White Wolf shook his head after them before looking at Dagmar. “The Matriarch will see you. Your mate is allowed to go in as well.”

Dagmar hadn’t even realized that was up for discussion. She touched Draco’s hand to get his attention. They followed White Wolf back inside.

The interior was spacious. Tree canopies had been woven together over what had to be years, to where they formed a curved wall down to the ground. Not much sound came in from outside, either. Dagmar was relieved that the staticky background hum wasn’t as sharp in here.

They rounded another set of curtains. Nine women sat on throne-like seats in front of the tree base. Their clothing was more ornate than functional. They wore white frocks lined with various kinds of fur. The woman at the centre sat higher than the others with a headdress of reindeer horns. Black feathers were weaved into her hair, red and similar in texture to the girl that Dagmar had seen outside. She too had freckles. A fabric fringe obscured her eyes, but Dagmar wondered if they would be just as blue.

“Thank you,” the Matriarch addressed White Wolf. “You may go.”

He bowed and then was gone. Dagmar folded her hands over her stomach, looking back at the Matriarch. Even if she couldn’t see the Matriarch’s eyes, Dagmar knew she was being studied hard.

“Come closer,” the Matriarch told her. “Your mate can stay where he is.”

“Just wait there,” Dagmar whispered to Draco before stepping up.

“Your name?” the Matriarch asked.

“Frejasdottir.”

The Matriarch shook her head. “Your given one.”

“Oh.” Dagmar shifted. “Dagmar.”

“Hm.”

Dagmar played with her hands again, shifting.

“What brings you to Leidfall, Dagmar?” the Matriarch asked. “Where’s your mother?”

Dagmar straightened a little. “Do you know her?”

“I did,” the Matriarch replied with a hint of hesitation. “Where is she?”

“In prison.” Dagmar looked around them all for any kind of reaction. “She has been since the end of winter.”

“So she has been living amongst wizards.”

“Since, er. . .” Dagmar paused. She had no idea what kind of calendar the druids followed, but she doubted it was the Gregorian one. “It’s been about fifteen years.”

“That’s all?” The Matriarch sounded surprised. “Hm.”

“I was young when she started that,” Dagmar offered. “Just three or so.”

“Why is your mother in prison?”

“She got involved with a dark wizard,” Dagmar answered. “I’m trying to figure out why. There might be something helpful from her past that she won’t tell anyone. You knew her, though? When I was young or before I was born?”

As soon as Dagmar said that, she wondered how it could be possible. Dagmar’s mum was still young at thirty-six, but the Matriarch looked younger than that. She couldn’t be more than thirty. Dagmar expected the leader of a place like this to be much older. Maybe the position was a birthright, rather than elected or earned. The other so-called elders looked no older than forty.

“I knew her,” the Matriarch acknowledged again. “We both once belonged to the same clan. Frankly, I believed your mother was dead, along with the rest of them. They were all slaughtered.”

Dagmar’s heart sunk. “Oh.”

“By wizards.” The Matriarch’s head turned slightly in Draco’s direction. “The days are gone now, but there was a time we were considered. . .incompatible with the world of magic at large.”

“You thought my mother died?”

“Her body wasn’t amongst the rest. I hoped death for her, if she hadn’t managed to escape. The alternative was that she had been taken. Even her sister’s fate was better than that.”

“You mean Aslaug?” Dagmar perked again, even if the aunt she’d never known was confirmed to be dead. “You knew her too?”

“Yes,” the Matriarch replied. “She was decapitated, a favoured method of wizards. She was within a week of giving birth.”

“Oh.”

“I tried anyway, with the child.” The Matriarch’s voice shook a little. “She had already suffocated.”

Dagmar didn’t know what to say to that, if anything. She used the new silence to think, trying to reconcile all this with what she knew of her early life. Her brow furrowed.

“You must have all been so young,” Dagmar said. “My mother had me at eighteen. When did this happen?”

Even not being able to see the Matriarch’s eyes, Dagmar could tell she was thinking.

“We weren’t young,” the Matriarch carefully replied. “Age is only relative.”

Dagmar blinked. “What does that mean? That my mother is older than she says she is? How old _is_ she?”

“I don’t know.”

“How old are _you?_ ”

The Matriarch smiled. Dagmar couldn’t tell if it was out of fondness, amusement, or dislike to have been asked such a personal question.

“I don’t know,” she answered anyway. “It becomes irrelevant, too.”

Dagmar pressed her lips together, gathering herself again so that she could refocus. She didn’t know what to think about what she’d just been told, because it was not at all what she expected to hear. Dagmar had no idea how it impacted all the other information she had, or that which Potter had.

“It might be relevant to why I came,” Dagmar said. “I don’t know what you know of what goes on outside of here, but the dark wizard that I mentioned started terrorizing the wizarding world in Europe about thirty years ago. My mother did something with him that possibly turned him immortal. Would you know anything about that?”

Any remaining hint of the Matriarch’s smile vanished. “How do you know he’s immortal?”

“I don’t, that’s the thing,” Dagmar replied. “He tried to kill a baby seventeen years ago. Since the baby’s mother died standing between them, the curse bounced off the baby and hit him instead. He came back a little over three years ago.”

“Does he look the same as before?”

“I don’t think so.” Dagmar didn’t actually know what Voldemort looked like before he’d disappeared. “No, he doesn’t. I was told he used to have dark hair and eyes. Now he looks like a skeleton, or maybe like a snake.”

“How did he return?”

“Some ritual. Blood of the enemy, flesh of the servant, something like that.”

“Ah.”

Dagmar studied her. “Is there anything you could say about that?”

“I’m familiar with the ritual.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean about the ritual itself,” Dagmar clarified. “How he came back.”

“The Killing Curse on a rebound merely ejects the spirit. It’s up to the person who cast it to find their way back to bodily form. Some take precautions to simplify the process.”

“What kind of precautions?” Dagmar asked. “That’s what I’m here to find out. The people I’m trying to help defeat this dark wizard think that maybe Voldemort had his soul removed and placed into something else.”

“Possibly. There are certain kinds of magic that can preserve that connection of soul when split between two vessels.”

“What kinds?”

“I won’t tell you that,” the Matriarch said.

Similar frustration to when Dagmar tried to wheedle information out of her mum twisted her stomach. She had to reel it back. “That’s okay. The people I’m helping know of one way. I don’t need to know the steps, just that it’s possible.”

“Then I suppose you have your answer.”

It wasn’t as satisfying to Dagmar as she thought it would be. She could at least confirm to Potter that they were likely on the right track about Voldemort being turned into a lich. If Dagmar’s mum knew the process, Dagmar wondered if it was from experience. The Matriarch made it sound like Dagmar’s mum might have dabbled in something like this. The Matriarch herself might have, along with the rest of the elders, for them to still look so young.

“What’s your name?” Dagmar asked her.

The Matriarch smiled again in that neutral way. “Helka.”

Dagmar nodded, but it didn’t ring any bells. Her mum had never mentioned her. Big surprise.

Although Dagmar learned some things today about where she might have come from, it wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. Depending on how long Dagmar’s mum and Helka had been separated, Dagmar now had even more time to fill in. Who knew how long her mum had been alone between then and when Dagmar was born? What if there were other children before her? Other lovers, aside from her dad and potentially Magnus Norheim?

Disheartened, Dagmar toed the Hall’s dirt floor. “I guess that’s all I had to ask.”

“I have one last thing to say before you go,” Helka said. “If you see your mother. . .tell her to come to Leidfall when she’s no longer imprisoned. I would love to see her again.”

“She’s not going to get out,” Dagmar glumly replied. “She’s in there for life. But I could pass a message along maybe that you said hi.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“If there’s anything else I think of that I need, could I come back?” Dagmar asked.

“Of course.” Helka’s voice softened. “Your mate too is welcome. Wizards today are not what they used to be, thankfully.”

“Thank you.” Dagmar paused. “And thank you for seeing me.”

Helka nodded. “The sentinels will escort you back to the border.”

Dagmar returned to where Draco stood. He studied her, and then his lips bunched off to one side. The disappointment was probably clear to read on Dagmar’s face. They headed for the hall exit, where White Wolf met them.

By now, word had clearly spread that outsiders visited Leidfall today. Dagmar tried not to show how much it bothered her to be stared at. The sentinels ushered people back to make space for them to pass. The girls that Dagmar saw earlier were there too. They all studied her critically, although Dagmar didn’t feel as though it was in a completely positive manner.

The hum of magic started to recede back to a bearable level. Twin aches emerged in Dagmar’s temples. She had no idea how any of them lived so close to a focus that powerful. The light in the clearing where Dagmar and Draco first met the sentinels seemed too bright.

“Thank you,” Dagmar said to White Wolf.

He nodded. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

The seven of them transfigured into wolves then, and then were gone through the trees. Dagmar heaved a massive sigh in relief that it was all over.

“Well?” Draco hesitantly asked.

“I’m so tired of chasing ghosts,” Dagmar replied. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Draco was quick to answer. “Tell me what happened on the way?”


	31. Of All the Ages

Now that Pansy had lived in Croydon for a little while, she felt settled enough to start exploring the area more. Harry had passively remembered passing through town with the Dursleys if he went with them to London. While out for an evening walk, Harry and Pansy ended up at the East Croydon train station. There were regular trains heading down to Little Whinging every quarter-hour. After some internal debate, Harry offered to show Pansy around where he had grown up.

Harry took Pansy past his old Muggle school, the zoo, and a shopping centre. Pansy asked about friends Harry might want to track down, but Harry never had any. The eager smile Pansy had started the evening with slipped as Harry explained how Dudley had set him up to have nobody, and then Harry left for Hogwarts anyway when he was supposed to start grammar school.

“It’s okay.” Harry shrugged. “I’d been looking forward to a new start when Dudley and I went to separate schools. That’s exactly what happened. Dudley wasn’t as bad when we got older. He might’ve actually been a little sad when we said goodbye, summer before last.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Pansy asked as they walked hand-in-hand down the street.

Harry shook his head. “Not a clue.”

“Well, was there anything else here you wanted to see?”

“Hm. . .oh, maybe.”

There was a pub not too far from Privet Drive that Uncle Vernon liked to grab takeaways from for himself, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley. Harry never got one, but the smell of fish and chips would stay with Harry for hours—sometimes days. That smell of vinegar and fish hit Harry so hard outside the pub that his mouth hurt as he started salivating. He and Pansy sat down inside at one of the few available tables. Harry had to keep swallowing as he made the order. Since they’d already had a proper dinner, he and Pansy opted just to share.

“Did you want to head home after this?” Pansy asked. “I was hoping to see where you’d grown up or meet your family, but I can’t say I blame you for not being up to it after your experience with mine.”

“You’ve met the ones that matter,” Harry told her.

Pansy smiled, for taking her to dinner on Wednesday night to the Burrow had gone quite well. Hermione and Viktor had come too. Mrs. Weasley prodded Ron all evening about why she saw him with a girl in Diagon Alley, but he had no one to bring home. Harry couldn’t tell if Mrs. Weasley was trying to make Ron feel uncomfortable on purpose, but Ron was impervious anyway.

“I’m glad Hermione’s giving me a chance too,” Pansy said. “I was always kind of a bitch to her. We were cordial for most of last year, I suppose. You know, her being Head Girl, me having to report to her and stuff.”

“Right.” Things like Prefects and Head Girl were starting to fade from Harry’s mind. “Well, Hermione’s nothing if not forgiving. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she’s had to forgive me and Ron for, over the years.”

Pansy laughed. “Oh, really?”

Harry told her about a couple of them, like when Harry and Ron got angry about Harry’s Firebolt being confiscated, when they stopped talking to her after it looked like Crookshanks ate Scabbers, all the times they left their homework to the last minute, and, in general, just dragging Hermione into testy situations of Harry and Ron’s own making. Pansy’s gaze softened as she listened while they ate, occasionally snorting in amusement. Harry much preferred telling those stories than the few he had about Little Whinging.

He was actually starting to forget that’s where they were. Harry and Pansy just sat in yet another pub, although Harry would definitely say the fish and chips were just as good as he’d always suspected them to be. Harry was starting to relax again when one of the tables of loud blokes broke with one heading off to the toilet. When he came back, he stopped beside Harry and Pansy’s table.

“Well, I don’t fuckin’ believe it,” he said.

Harry looked up, then forgot how to swallow as cold anxiety rushed down through his stomach. He had to force the food down in a way that felt vaguely unnatural. “Dudley.”

Dudley laughed, moving to stand more square between Harry and Pansy. He looked at Pansy, then again. Dudley had started gaining weight again, just enough for his belly to poke over the top of his jeans. Harry wondered if that meant he’d stopped wrestling once he finished school.

“So what the hell are you doing here?” Dudley asked. “You’re back in Little Whinging?”

“Just for the evening,” Harry replied. “I remembered the fish and chips here. Er, this is Pansy, my girlfriend. Pansy, my cousin, Dudley.”

“Hi,” Pansy said as Dudley unfolded his arms long enough to raise a hand.

“So what’re you doing nowadays, then?” Dudley asked Harry. “What do your kind even do when you’re done school?”

“Not much different than you, really,” Harry said. “I’m training to be an Auror. A policeman, sort of,” Harry specified when Dudley blinked. “More like a detective, I guess.”

“That’s cool,” Dudley replied.

“Er, you?”

An embarrassed kind of smile came over Dudley, although since he was on the piss it wasn’t to the full effect. He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Should’ve maybe tried harder to get on with a university or something. Thinking about going to get a certificate, but I’m not sure what for yet. Dad got me on at Grunnings. I don’t know if I like it. Not for long-term, anyway. For now, I’m just trying to figure things out. I’ll worry about everything next year.”

“That’s not bad.” Harry pointed a thumb over at Dudley’s mates. “Typical Saturday, then?”

Dudley laughed. “Yeah, this is it. Living the dream, and all that.”

Harry hesitated, eating another chip off his plate. “How’s your mum and dad?”

“Oh, just fine. Hey!” Harry flinched as Dudley swatted his shoulder with the back of his hand. “I was heading home soon. Did you want to come say hi? They talk about you once in a while, you know, saying it’s rude you never write. I’m pretty sure if they want you to, might mean they miss you.”

“It’s a bit late.” Harry glanced at his watch for show, but there was no way he would ever agree to that. “Pansy and I were heading back home after we ate.”

“Ah well. ‘Nother time?” Dudley asked. “How would I even get in contact with you if I wanted to?”

“Not sure, really,” Harry said. “Not unless you guys took in an owl while I was gone.”

Dudley tipped his head back this time when he laughed. “No, you know what Dad’s like. He’d probably have another heart attack if I brought one home. See ya then, mate.”

With a hearty clap to Harry’s shoulder, Dudley carried on. Harry remained stiff despite trying to relax. He exhaled as he dipped the piece of fish he’d been working on in the sauce. He looked up at Pansy when she touched his other hand.

“All right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry automatically answered. “Just didn’t expect to see him.”

“Do you want to go?”

“No, it’s okay.” Harry tried to smile, but he doubted it came off as genuine. “Let’s just finish up.”

Although Harry insisted, he was distracted by the group that Dudley had rejoined. Harry still had an instinct never to put his back to Dudley, especially when he was with his mates. That was just a fact of life when Harry was younger. Looking back with so much time between now and then, Harry started to feel embarrassed. That curdled into something that Harry resented even more to feel: shame.

Thankfully, Dudley was too preoccupied to notice Harry and Pansy slip out. Harry breathed a little easier out on the street as they headed back toward the train station. He still didn’t feel completely better because he could tell Pansy was paying close attention to how he had reacted to the situation. It didn’t help that Harry had gone quiet.

Harry used some more Muggle money at the train station to buy their tickets back to Croydon. When they reached their platform, Harry figured it was probably inevitable something had to be said. Pansy squeezed Harry’s hand when he looked down at her. As Harry thought about what to say, Pansy spoke instead.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “You don’t have to explain.”

Harry shrugged. “I only wanted to show you the good parts of where I grew up.”

“Don’t I know what _that’s_ like.”

A chuckle came a bit more naturally from Harry, even if it wasn’t exactly in humour. “I guess if it was going to be anybody we ran into, best it be Dudley. My aunt or uncle. . .I don’t know. They didn’t like me very much.”

Pansy turned more to face Harry and wiped at a piece of fuzz on the front of his jacket. “Their loss, then. They must be relatives of your mum’s right, since they’re Muggles? I’m pretty sure all the Potters were wizards.”

“My mum was Muggle-born. My aunt is her sister.”

“And your aunt didn’t. . .?” Pansy faltered as she thought. “You were all that’s left of your mum.”

“And the reason she’s dead.” Harry averted his gaze. “Not that they were on good terms and all, but. . .I don’t know. I just got used to it. I try not to think about it very much. It doesn’t matter anymore. I only really spent ten years there, and then Hogwarts became home.”

Pansy rubbed his arm. “You must miss Hogwarts, then.”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Harry said. “I catch myself looking at the clock in the office on slow days and wondering what class I’d be in. What homework I’d be worrying about, or if maybe I could’ve been sneaking in a visit to Hagrid later that day. I try not to get stuck on it because I know leaving school is part of growing up. I’m an Auror now—or working toward being one. Time to move on.”

“You don’t have to think about it like that,” Pansy replied. “You have good memories of a place that was happy for you. You’re allowed to miss it. That’s natural. Things are very different now, aren’t they? I can’t say I ever saw _this_ happening while we were there.”

Harry’s lips pulled up in an amused smile. “It would’ve been interesting, that’s for sure.”

“Mhm.” Pansy pulled down on Harry’s hand, one way she tended to solicit a kiss. “Whatever, though. You were preoccupied, I was figuring things out. I’d rather you didn’t know me so well during that time. You might not have liked me as much.”

“Guess we’ll never know.”

Pansy snorted and grinned before kissing Harry again. She studied him afterward, hand still on his cheek. “I’m really happy it _did_ happen.”

Harry’s stomach fluttered, softening him. “Me too.”

His mood started its climb back to where it’d been at the beginning of the evening. Harry felt it in more ways than one as the train carried them from Little Whinging back to Croydon. Emerging need to get closer to Pansy than was acceptable in public left him a different kind of edgy. From the way Pansy looked at Harry in the gaps between conversation, Harry figured she knew what was coming her way when they made it back to her apartment.

They accessed it the Muggle way. Harry kept his eye on Pansy as she slipped her jacket off with her back to him. Her hair slid forward like a silk curtain when she looked down at her shoes while removing them. She glanced over her shoulder when Harry touched her lower back, then grinned as Harry kissed her neck. A breathy chuckle ramped up to a gleeful scream when Harry stooped down to pick her up with an arm under her knees.

With her arms tight around his neck for stabilization, Pansy held herself in place as Harry carried her toward her room. “I really wasn’t joking when I told you this made me instantly wet.”

Harry laughed. They’d just been messing around in the back of Madam Malkin’s that time, Harry curious if he could pack her around like that since she was so little. He’d thought he’d done something seriously wrong when Pansy went wide-eyed and still.

She certainly wasn’t joking, come to find. Harry was relieved he’d thought ahead about having a wank before Pansy got off work. They didn’t have to accommodate his relative inexperience. Pansy didn’t give Harry much time going down on her before she was asking him to come up the bed.

Harry felt pretty good about where he was physically, so it bore him no distraction while doing what he could to keep Pansy’s breath ragged. Maybe because Harry himself was pretty lost in it, he didn’t realize just where it was heading until Pansy told him in a bare whisper not to stop. She stiffened under Harry before trembling, and her nails dug into his shoulders as a raspy moan collected in the shell of Harry’s ear. Pansy’s pelvic floor went so tight Harry had no choice but to slow down unless he wanted to be squeezed right out of her.

She was completely lost when Harry kissed her, hardly able to react at all beyond the breathless laugh that usually accompanied a flush of endorphins. As Harry’s heart slowed down, his fatigue worsened. He used what was left of his mind as fuel to realize he should probably get off of her.

Pansy followed Harry by rolling onto her side. She curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. She lightly scratched his stomach. “Well, my head is mush.”

“Mm,” was all Harry could summon.

“I believe that’s what’s meant by shagging a girl’s brains out.”

Harry snorted and cracked his eyes open. “Yeah, it was a good one. Were you even doing anything to help yourself along?”

“Nope,” Pansy replied. “That was all you.”

“Huh.” If Harry was in a more tangible place mentally, his pride about that might be more obvious than pressing his lips against Pansy’s sweaty brow showed. “Guess you’re teaching me well.”

She giggled. “I’ll say too that your willy is what would be called vaginally ergonomic.”

Laughing about that and then taking a shower together once Pansy’s legs no longer wobbled was a much better way than Little Whinging to set the tone for the weekend. When Harry headed back to work on Monday morning, he’d actually forgotten that he was looking forward to what Dagmar and Malfoy could tell him about their trip to Leidfall.

Harry checked their messenger:

_We made it back home Sat night. I’m still not really sure about what to make of what we learned there. The way Leidfall was set up, there was a council of elders and then a matriarch named Helka that oversees everything. Draco and I got to see her. She told me she used to know my mum way back. I mean way back…I don’t know if my mum is some kind of immortal (I don’t even want to write that) or a lich or what, but that’s the impression I got. Helka told me my mum is way older than I knew, but she didn’t know how old. So I don’t know. I don’t think Helka has much reason to lie either. She knew my aunt’s name that my mum would never talk about. I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do since it changes pretty much everything I know about her. Maybe it’ll do the same for you._

_PS. If you see my mum tell her Helka says hi_

Harry blinked. The furrow in his brow deepened with each reread. He replied: _Helka never said how your mum was older? She looks like a 36 year old though_

He wouldn’t get a response for a little while. It being just past nine o’clock in Bergen, Dagmar would’ve headed down to the hospital already. With the messenger still opened to Dagmar’s message, Harry pulled out his work messenger so that he could update Hildegard’s profile:

_Hildegard Ramstad_ _(clan (maiden?) name Frejasdottir)  
_ _Status: imprisoned in Azkaban  
_ _Born: sometime prior to 1962 (lied about age, possibly immortal or has lengthened life?)  
_ _Alliances: self  
_ _Connections: Death Eaters (Malfoys - betrothed Dagmar to Draco summer 1997 and friends with Lucius/Narcissa before summer 1995, Lestranges - Bellatrix/Rodolphus helping find Norheim (Voldemort’s most trusted?), Hugo Crabbe/Everett Goyle (not close, legmen), Erik Ramstad (married 1986), Dagmar Ramstad (daughter), Magnus Norheim (previous romantic partner), Bjorn (deceased son), Voldemort (turned into a lich), Helka (fellow clan member)_

 _\- 3 other unknown Death Eaters on same level as Crabbe/Goyle Sr acting like legmen?  
_ _\- most likely used Slytherin’s locket as Voldemort’s phylactery  
_ _\- also a lich? How she knew how to do it for Voldemort?_

Harry tapped the tip of his quill against the page as he looked it over again. “Got something for you to look at, Parasca.”

She stopped what she was doing so that she could read over the note Dagmar had sent Harry, as well as Harry’s updated information on Hildegard. Parasca’s brow went into the same kind of furrow as Harry’s had.

“Think this warrants another trip out to Azkaban?” Harry asked.

“I’d say so, but what for, specifically?” Parasca looked up at Harry. “What are you aiming to get out of her?”

“Nothing really specific, but I wonder what she might give up if I just sat down in a chat with her. I have a lot of questions.”

Harry talked to Kingsley about it, who was agreeable. If Harry and Parasca wanted to go tomorrow, then Kingsley would send a message to Azkaban to bring Hildegard out of sedation.

Dagmar replied to Harry’s message around three-thirty: _I know, it’s weird. I have pictures of her as young as 23 or so, and even then she looks like a 23 year old. I don’t get it. I guess people must change over time even if they’re super old, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s some kind of thing where she can look like she’s aging?_

 _Maybe,_ Harry wrote back. _I’ve been thinking about it today, and we have to treat your mum a little different than other prisoners in Azkaban. She’s the only one that has to stay sedated otherwise she’ll hurt herself. I wonder if that’s why she does. A life sentence would mean something different to her than someone more mortal, wouldn’t it?_

_Does that change anything about how she would be sentenced?_

Harry hesitated before dipping his quill again: _There’s a deal in the air with her. It hasn’t been confirmed with Kingsley or the Minister or anyone, so don’t take my word for it or get your hopes/worries up. She told me a while ago that she turned Voldemort into a lich and that Magnus Norheim took off with his phylactery. That’s why Voldemort’s been looking for him. The deal with your mum is that if her info is good and somehow leads to Voldemort being gone-gone then there’s a potential for release. She told me that she probably wouldn’t bother with the wizarding world anymore. Mentioned she’s had nothing but bad luck every time she did, that wizards are the reason she has no family other than you._

 _That’s the story I got from Helka too._ Dagmar’s handwriting grew messier. _Helka told me that wizards slaughtered the rest of their clan. They even decapitated my mum’s sister when she was about to pop with a baby. Whenever I asked my mum about Aslaug she’d get upset and refuse to talk about her. I figure she must’ve seen it before she ran off._

Harry grimaced. _Bloody hell, hey?_

_Yeah. Fucked up. So my mum might get out? I don’t know how to feel about that._

_Don’t think she should?_

_That part of it’s up to the Ministry. Just after everything she’s put me through, I don’t know if it’ll make a difference if she’s in Azkaban or not for how much of a relationship we have. I started wondering if since my mum is older than I knew, maybe I have siblings that are long grown or maybe even dead by now, depending how old she is. Considering how stupid she was about getting me involved in all this, can’t say she probably had much experience thinking about anyone but herself. So for all I know I’m still the only one she ever bothered to have._

_Hard to say_

Harry didn’t want to say more than that in case they got too close to discussing Bjorn. Now that Dagmar mentioned siblings, Harry wondered if maybe there _were_ more aside from those two. It clearly bothered Hildegard that Bjorn had died the way he did. Had Hildegard seen other children of hers die? Or would any offspring be immortal like her? Dagmar didn’t seem to be. Maybe it didn’t bother Hildegard as much to see her children die naturally. Maybe she didn’t bother getting as attached to them. That could also explain why she was so careless with Dagmar’s well being.

By the end of the workday, Harry couldn’t say he had much of a grasp on how the mind of someone with longer-than-normal life worked. It would be an entirely different experience than anything Harry knew or could possibly _ever_ know on his own. The ferry ride out to Azkaban on Tuesday morning felt much slower than usual.

“Ramstad.” The Auror that led Harry up to the cell roused Hildegard with a bang against her bars. “Visitor.”

She sat on her bed, wrapped up in a blanket and facing the bars. She looked at Harry with a mix of interest, concern, and hesitation. Harry didn’t know what that was about, although he appreciated how Hildegard’s expression was taken over solely by intrigue when the guard moved along after letting Harry in. Parasca hadn’t bothered coming up either, since Harry intended to hold this conversation in Parseltongue. He wanted every precursor for relaxation to be accomplished before he and Hildegard started talking.

Harry conjured himself a chair against the bars. When he tucked his wand back inside his suit jacket, some foil crinkled. “Hungry?”

“Not particularly,” Hildegard replied, although narrowed her eyes. “Why, what do you have?”

“Chocolate.”

“Let me guess.” Hildegard eyed it when Harry brought it out of his inside pocket. “Laced with Veritaserum or something.”

“Nope, but if you don’t want any, that’s fine.” Harry broke a piece off for himself. “I’m kind of hungry after the ferry ride out here. It takes a while.”

Hildegard watched Harry eat it. Given the food quality out here, Harry wasn’t shocked to see Hildegard frequently swallow. She wouldn’t have gotten anything with exceptional flavour for over seven months now. As much as Hildegard didn’t trust it, she still wanted some.

“I’m getting the sense you’re trying to soften me up,” she said.

Harry shrugged. “Just wanted to have a chat. I came across some interesting information about you that seemed worth asking about.”

Tightening her blanket around herself, Hildegard gave a short grunt.

“You know what Leidfall is, right?” Harry asked after swallowing his mouthful.

As quickly as Hildegard had put her defences up, they seemed to wither. She studied Harry again. “Yes.”

“Dagmar went there on the weekend,” Harry said. “Ran into an old friend of yours. Clan member, however that works.”

Hildegard stared at Harry.

“Helka told Dagmar to say hi to you for her, if she got the chance.”

Hildegard blinked a couple times before averting her gaze. Her eyes welled up.

“Oh,” she said, hardly audible.

“Surprised she’s alive?”

“What did she tell Dagmar?”

“A lot of interesting things,” Harry replied. “How wizards killed your clan. Sounds like you and Helka were the only survivors. That was horrific, what they did to your sister.”

Hildegard’s nod was hardly perceptible.

“You witnessed it?”

“Yes.”

“When did this happen?” Harry asked.

That question tripped Hildegard up. She tried to retreat again inside herself, but Harry kept on.

“Helka already gave you up as a lot older than thirty-six,” Harry told her. “She said she didn’t know how old you were, the same way Helka doesn’t know how old _she_ is. You must just lose track after a while, huh? How do druids even keep track of the years, if you do at all?”

Thankfully, Harry hadn’t spooked her too much. Hildegard hummed as she thought about it. “We don’t, really. Not the way wizards do. Seasons are more important, since you need to know when animal herds are moving around, or when it’s time to prepare for winter. The solstices were important days.”

“I guess so, hey?” Harry popped some more chocolate in his mouth. “So are you a lich too, then?”

Hildegard considered Harry. “I don’t have a phylactery anymore.”

“What happened to it?”

“It got destroyed.”

“How?”

“Same way anything breaks.” Hildegard shrugged.

“You don’t seem too bothered by it,” Harry said.

“It’s been a while. I’m used to the idea now.” Hildegard pursed her lips and sighed. “I’m still young, really. I was hoping just to live out a natural life with Dagmar and Erik. So much for that. Erik’s gone and Dagmar hates me. Not that I blame her, but it still hurts.”

Hildegard pulled her blanket up tighter to her neck and sniffled. Her eyes were wet again. Some of it fell this time, which she wiped with her blanket.

“Oh, I miss them so much,” Hildegard whispered. “I wish I didn’t screw everything up. I want to say I wish I’d never met Voldemort, but I wouldn’t have met Erik if I didn’t. I guess I wouldn’t have known the difference if Erik never came into my life. I’d still have Dagmar, at least.”

“Not Bjorn?”

Hildegard shook her head. “He wouldn’t have been born.”

“Why not?”

“Just the way things worked out. All considered, though. . .it really wouldn’t have hurt him not to exist. Poor little thing.”

Harry suppressed a new grimace. It certainly would’ve spared Hildegard a lot of grief if Bjorn hadn’t, although Harry felt bad for his memory that the only person in the entire world who even remembered him felt that way.

“So why Erik?” Harry changed the subject.

Hildegard leaned her head back against the wall. “What do you mean?”

“Why Erik,” Harry repeated with a shrug. “You met him what had to only be months after everything with Magnus. Erik’s brother Håkon said he first heard about you and Dagmar at Christmas that year. How did you trust someone again after Magnus so quickly? Why?”

“Erm. . .” Hildegard laughed slightly. Along with coloured cheeks, Harry had to guess she was more embarrassed than anything. “We didn’t start out like that.”

“No?”

Hildegard shook her head. “See, er. . .before I went to live with the druids, I was a Ramstad. I wondered if I was related to Erik. Turns out I was. A very-great aunt, technically.

“I want to say, before you think it’s gross—” Hildegard quickened her speech since Harry’s eyebrows rose by their own accord, “—we’re _not_ closely related. I was born so long ago that the bloodline between me and him had plenty of time to dilute.”

“Hm.” Harry ate more chocolate to fill in the dead air as he mulled that one over. “How did you find out you were related, then?”

“I was in the family bible.”

“So you must know your actual birthday.”

A hint of amusement showed in Hildegard’s eyes. “Yes.”

“What is it?” Harry asked. “Might as well save me the effort of asking Dagmar to take a look in the Ramstad bible next time she sees her aunt.”

“Christmas day, 1339.”

Harry stared. A piece of chocolate gradually melted in his mouth as his teeth stopped working on it.

“Older than you thought, huh?” Hildegard asked.

“That’s like. . .” Harry tried to do the math in his head.

“I’ll be six-hundred and fifty-nine years old on Christmas.”

“I’d ask what your secret is, but. . .”

Hildegard laughed. “Well, I can’t say Azkaban has done much for my looks. I honestly haven’t even seen myself since March, but I can tell it’s not good. I’ve lost a lot of weight. Don’t get real baths or anything anymore, either. And. . .you know. Grief and stress, whenever I actually feel it.”

That killed Hildegard’s humour. She resettled with her knees pulled up against her. Harry had to force his brain to start working again as he tried to absorb the fact he was talking to someone that had been alive before Europe even knew about the Americas. Hildegard had been alive before Galileo put forth the idea the sun was at the centre of the solar system. When Hildegard was born, nobody even knew that Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto existed. There was no electricity or steam. Not even the printing press.

“I guess I _could_ ask your secret,” Harry said. “You said you’re a lich, sure. But how did you end up with druids? I thought you had to be born one to be one. It’s a lineage thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you can become one too,” Hildegard replied. “It just takes time. Haven’t you ever seen those Muggles that can sometimes learn a little magic? Telekinesis, apparation, spontaneous combustion?”

“I guess,” Harry conceded. “I wouldn’t be able to say what you can or can’t do with six-hundred years to practice. You didn’t know Nicolas Flamel, did you?”

“ _Of_ him, but never met.”

“So how did you end up with druids, then? You and your sister went into it together? How did you even find them?”

“We didn’t.” Hildegard shook her head. “Other way around. One found us. Freja. That’s why our clan was called Frejasdottir. Freja’s daughter.”

“I’m not very up on my Norse mythology, but that’s the name of a goddess, isn’t it? Like, a big one?”

“She was.”

The way Hildegard said that made Harry think. “Not _the_ Freja, then?”

Hildegard smiled. “You must be familiar with the old pantheons, the Norse, Roman, or Greek ones—Egyptian, whatever. Where do you think those names come from? What _is_ a god, really? Freja was immortal until she was slaughtered with the rest of my clan.”

“What about the phylacteries?”

“Destroyed first, I guess.” Hildegard shrugged. “Helka’s, maybe not. I didn’t stick around once I got free.”

“What was _your_ phylactery?”

“Ooh.” Hildegard jumped her eyebrows playfully. “That’s so personal.”

“You haven’t minded all the other questions,” Harry pointed out.

“No,” Hildegard agreed with another shrug. “To be honest, it’s kind of nice to talk about. I haven’t had my clan now, for. . .oh, must be a couple hundred years. There was about fifty of us. Freja found Aslaug and I when we didn’t know what we were going to do. We’d just been orphaned—the Black Death came through the house. We all got it, but Aslaug and I survived. I was only eleven. So in terms of scale, I mean. . .I feel sorry for my parents and my other siblings and all that, but a decade compared to four or five centuries? The clan ended up my real family.”

“So why did you go into isolation for all those years after they were slaughtered?” Harry asked. “Why not go to Leidfall, or somewhere else if there’s more than one place druids live? Why Fantomøy?”

“I had my reasons.” Hildegard averted her gaze. “Mostly I was ashamed I ran, even if it meant I survived. I didn’t think anyone would take too kindly to that. The only other reason I might have survived was because I made some kind of deal with wizards to act as a mole and help them carry out what they were trying to do. It was better everyone thought I was dead, and frankly, I didn’t want to put myself at risk for that happening again. I couldn’t bear to go through something like that twice.”

“A couple hundred years, though?” Harry pressed. “That didn’t get lonely?”

Hildegard shrugged. “I had company. Lys and Vann, the huldra and nøkken you already know about.”

“Were they intelligent company?”

“Enough so.”

“Hm.” Harry couldn’t really understand it, but he wondered if he might feel differently if he was five-hundred years old and went through a tragedy like that. At that point, would a couple centuries in solitude really feel like too much? “So. . .back to Erik. You told him who you were? _What_ you were?”

“In time.” Hildegard’s gaze softened, although her throat tightened as well. “He was such a good man. He took Dagmar in as his own. Most of the time I legitimately forgot he wasn’t her biological father. He took _both_ of us in. He saw how much we were struggling. I came into the wizarding world with nothing. No money, and not a clue how anything worked. I barely even spoke Norwegian. Magnus had taught me some, but other than Old Norse all I ever knew was Parseltongue and Druidic. I was really leery after Magnus. I thought if things went off the rails with Erik, I could pull the Ramstad card. Don’t hurt me, I’m family, and so on. It never came to that. He was just. . .like that. Such a good man. The only thing he ever did wrong was have the misfortune of meeting me.”

Hildegard wiped at her eyes. They were irritated again with unshed tears.

“Is that why he took the Dark Mark?” Harry asked. “He did it for you?”

Hildegard nodded. “I told him not to. I said he could leave and I’d never hold it against him. He couldn’t give up me and Dagmar. He wanted to help.”

“Help do what?”

“Find Magnus and get back Voldemort’s phylactery in the process,” Hildegard said. “Mostly Erik and I just travelled a lot, and I would pick us places to go where I thought Magnus might be. I couldn’t keep it from Erik forever. That’s when I told him he could leave—or that I would leave if he wanted me to, seeing as we weren’t married yet. He said we were his family, and we were. I should’ve left anyway, but. . .I loved him. I thought we could figure it out.”

“So why did Erik jump in front of Voldemort then, when someone shot a Killing Curse at him?”

Hildegard shrugged, expression low again. “Maybe he didn’t mean to.”

“Maybe not.” Harry paused to recall what he had seen in Kingsley’s memory. It’d been a while since the one time he visited it, but it _was_ rather impeccable timing. Voldemort needed a shield since he was injured, and Erik may have just intended to act as one. They might not have expected anyone to use the Killing Curse on Voldemort, considering the prophecy.

“I’m still waiting for someone to come tell me he survived.” Hildegard’s eyes misted again. “I tell myself he did to make myself feel better. He survived, and this was how he got out. Voldemort wouldn’t bother chasing someone he believed to be dead. Maybe Erik’s with Dagmar, and they’re just doing their thing. The last few years, Erik and I got so consumed in trying to make things right by Voldemort. We neglected Dagmar on the premise that we do all this work now and then in the future we could be a family again. I only hoped she’d understand once we could tell her everything, and that she’d forgive us.”

“Did you and Erik never think about just doing Voldemort in?” Harry asked. “You were always so close to him. If he turned his back, and you. . .I mean, it could’ve all been over, just like that.”

Hildegard gave Harry a funny look. “We’ve been talking about his phylactery. I couldn’t while it was out there somewhere. He would just keep coming back.”

“You think Magnus kept it intact?”

“Yeah,” Hildegard answered. “He couldn’t have destroyed it. They’re frail, but protected. Magnus would’ve wanted to keep it.”

“Even when Voldemort came back and Magnus would know he was looking for it?”

“Why destroy something when you can just make yourself the hide-and-seek champion of the world?”

Harry suppressed a snort. “What would Magnus want with it?”

Hildegard shrugged. “He would just keep it.”

“Hm.” Harry didn’t see the issue in still getting rid of Voldemort for a while longer. Even if he came back more powerful the next time, he was still manageable. Time was all anybody really needed. If Magnus was out there somewhere, had the phylactery, and it was destructible even if it was protected, then it _was_ a doable job. It would be much easier without competition in the search.

Hildegard lifted her chin, trying to peer into Harry’s lap. “You wouldn’t happen to have more of that chocolate, would you?”

“Yep.”

Harry had ate only about a third of it. He crossed the few feet of the cell to hand it over. For a moment, at the prospect of some sort of luxury in Azkaban, Hildegard perked up enough that Harry saw Dagmar in her again. Hildegard snapped off a piece and put it in her mouth. She leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed as she savoured it.

“Just keep the rest,” Harry told her when she held the bar out tentatively. “I’m good.”

“If you let me finish it before you go, they won’t take it from me,” she said.

Harry nodded.

“Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Harry studied Hildegard more overtly now, since he had her attention again. He rested one of his ankles on the knee opposite.

“I guess I’m trying to see things through Voldemort’s perspective,” Harry said. “My impression of him is that all he really ever wanted was immortality. When I first met him—not when I was a baby, but ten years later—he was trying to steal Flamel’s stone. He must have thought he had it made when he first met you. He’d been searching all his life for immortality, and here someone just said he could have it.”

“He didn’t trust me right away.” Hildegard covered her mouth out of politeness as she chewed. “I told him he could be immortal, yeah, but I also would have to handle his soul to make the transfer. Wouldn’t _he_ be a fool if I was just someone from the Ministry pulling a fast one on him.”

“When did you first meet him?”

“Mid-seventies sometime.”

“What was that like for you?” Harry asked. “You’d been alone for so long. You said the huldra and nøkken—sorry, what were their names?”

“Lys and Vann.”

“Right. You said Lys and Vann were only sort of intelligent company. One thing I’ll give Voldemort is that he isn’t stupid. He’s made mistakes, obviously. But what was it like to have another human around, an intelligent one at that? It must have been kind of nice.”

Hildegard squinted an eye at Harry as her chewing grew more rhythmic. “Just what are you angling at?”

“Nothing in particular.” Harry waved it off. “He must have seemed a bit like a small fry to you, though. You were, what, still six-hundred and something years old when you met. And then here’s this fifty year old mortal trying to figure out how to be like you. Was he like a pupil?”

“In a way, I guess.” Hildegard broke off another piece of chocolate. Despite trying to be reserved to start, she was making quick work of it. “He was very curious about what being immortal was like. He had his own vision of it, which wasn’t exactly wrong when it came to his goals. He asked a lot of questions, since my experience was one of living in obscurity. He was trying to extrapolate.”

“I see.”

“It was more. . .I wouldn’t say friendly, entirely. Business-like,” Hildegard said. “He never mentioned me taking the Dark Mark, so he didn’t see me like an underling. Never looked at me as a superior either, like a mentor. We were meant to be equals in our initial agreement.”

“Voldemort takes no equals,” Harry replied.

Hildegard gave Harry a strained smile. “Voldemort could appreciate that I chose to align with him rather than go against him. I take it Dagmar told you what she did to him summer before last?”

Harry nodded.

“And that was with the barest knowledge of what she’s truly capable of with my blood in her veins.”

“She’s exploring that,” Harry told Hildegard. “She went on to be a Healer after Hogwarts, and she’s got a knack for working with pregnant patients. She can tell them what they’re expecting and everything.”

“Yeah.” Hildegard smiled. “She always was so gentle like that. Such a good girl. I think that regardless of everything I did to screw her up, there’s hope for her to turn out a lot better than me. She’s doing all right, then?”

“She would still tell you everything screwed her up, but she seems okay,” Harry said. “She reconnected with Erik’s family, and I guess that’s going all right. She mentioned spreading some of Erik’s ashes sometime soon with them. Her and Draco got engaged.”

“Aw, did they?” Hildegard lit up, but only briefly. With a look around her cell, she resettled with her chocolate. “Good for them.”

“Yep.” Harry leaned back in his seat and studied Hildegard again as she took a bite of chocolate directly from the bar. “What was the deal with arranging them?”

“Dagmar and Draco?” Hildegard asked. “Things changed when Voldemort returned. Lucius wanted them together because Dagmar was the only girl with Death Eaters for parents. Him and Narcissa wanted them together originally anyway, when the kids were going on twelve. Dagmar didn’t like Draco, though. She said he was a prat.”

Harry snorted. “He was.”

“Back then, it was just because we were friends with the Malfoys. They helped us get situated in Britain. Erik and I actually didn’t know Lucius was a Death Eater. Of course we knew the story that he’d been under the Imperius Curse.” Hildegard waved a hand. “When Dagmar turned her nose at the idea of Draco, I asked her what she thought of Blaise Zabini, since Luzia was also asking after Dagmar. Dagmar was good with him. They were friendly and seemed compatible.”

“Huh.” Harry hadn’t realized Dagmar was arranged to someone before Malfoy. Dagmar and Zabini had never seemed like more than just friends. Well—for obvious reasons. “They’re still close.”

“That’s good. I heard around last Christmas that Blaise was gay, so I wondered how long Dagmar knew,” Hildegard said. “Maybe it had something to do with why she was okay with the change. I never got the chance to ask, but it all seems irrelevant now.”

“Yeah.” Harry paused. “The reason I ask about the arrangements isn’t really your thoughts on Draco, but that Dagmar get arranged at all. Why bother? It doesn’t sound like it’s a thing in Norway, so Erik wouldn’t think it was normal. And it doesn’t sound like _you_ ever got married other than Erik.”

“It was mostly all just in good fun.” Hildegard chuckled. “Narcissa was the first one to ask me about it. I didn’t like the idea of forcing Dagmar to do anything, but I’m sure someone’s told you by now it’s not like that. I was a little concerned about Dagmar getting tangled up with someone that might not understand where her and I came from. I never told her about our history to protect her from that, but it was only a matter of time until she realized she was a different magic-user than just a regular witch. Purebloods in Britain are so much more exclusive than the rest of its wizarding society. I’m sure you’re also familiar with the fact that some purebloods in Britain consider themselves endangered.”

“Mhm.”

“I thought that even if Dagmar and I were ever exposed as druids, they would see a kinship with us through that.” Hildegard ate the last piece of chocolate she had. “And I was right. When Voldemort returned—it would’ve been funny if it wasn’t the first nail in the coffin. He went to Lucius to get his help finding me. As he’s telling Lucius ‘her name’s Hildegard, she has a daughter named Dagmar, she lives in Norway’, Lucius is just like, oh. . .that’s a friend of mine who lives over in Berkshire, actually.”

“So no chance to run.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Hildegard refuted with a shake of her head. “I just thought it was funny in a sad way. Like oh, you know, fancy seeing you here.”

Harry feigned amusement as Hildegard laughed to herself about it. “He must have been angry, though. About the phylactery.”

“Yeah. . .” The light bled out of Hildegard again. “He was. He couldn’t believe what an idiot I’d been. To be fair, neither could I after it all happened.”

“I bet.”

Hildegard toyed with the now-empty foil she had. She looked over at Harry. “You wouldn’t happen to have anymore, would you? That was really good.”

“No, sorry.”

“Hm.” She pursed her lips in disappointment. “Oh well. Thanks anyway.”

“No problem.” Harry got up. “I can take your rubbish if you like.”

“Sure.” Hildegard held out the foil. “You’re going?”

“Not yet.”

“Would you tell me more about what Dagmar’s been up to?”

Harry didn’t think he had much really to say, since he hadn’t actually seen Dagmar in close to two months now. They chatted enough through the messenger that Harry had a bit of information. He knew Dagmar’s first exams for her Healer program were coming up the first week of December. It hadn’t even been mentioned to Hildegard that Dagmar had moved back to Bergen. Hildegard had a good laugh thinking about what Narcissa’s reaction would be to find out Draco worked with dragons now. Harry didn’t see the harm in telling Hildegard either that Narcissa was currently in hiding somewhere. Hildegard looked genuinely surprised that Narcissa had left her marriage.

“I could tell they weren’t getting along very well,” Hildegard said. “I didn’t think she’d take it that far, though.”

“She didn’t appreciate Lucius hitting Draco the way he did,” Harry replied. “It looked pretty bad when we all got back to Hogwarts.”

“I didn’t know he did.” Hildegard grimaced. “I knew Draco denounced Voldemort and figured from there Dagmar did the same, but we didn’t discuss specifics.”

“What _did_ you discuss?”

“We always talked around it, but Narcissa was relieved that Draco did,” Hildegard replied. “I’d told her when we all started discussing revisiting the kids’ arrangements that Dagmar kept Muggle-borns as regular company and didn’t care about blood purity. Narcissa was fine with that. I think she saw the way the wizarding world was going, that pure blood was becoming less relevant other than the way they intermarried and mingled socially. It’s a trend I’ve seen over the centuries too. Druids had the same apprehensions with wizards as wizards did with Muggles. While Muggles were burning witches and wizards, witches and wizards were killing off druids. Only problem was, druids didn’t have as much a chance against fellow magic-users. Muggles couldn’t do a whole lot to wizards to actually harm them.”

“No, that’s true.” Harry thought about Wendelin the Weird, the witch who kept letting herself get caught and burned at the stake.

“Wizards are different than they used to be, at least in ways.” Hildegard wrapped her blanket more up around her as a cool breeze came through. “They don’t look at druids as creatures to be dominant over, or to exterminate. It’s only natural that the line between pureblooded and Muggle-born wizards wither away. We’re all magical at the end of the day. Bringing Muggles into it, we’re all human.”

“That’s pretty progressive for someone that lined up with Voldemort.”

“I saw it more when I starting living amongst wizards again,” Hildegard said. “Erik thought like that too. He was keen to show me how things had changed since I last dealt with them.”

“Considering everything, though. . .” Harry pressed his lips briefly. “You probably could’ve struck Voldemort down before you made his phylactery. You thought you needed his protection?”

“After everything that happened with my clan, yeah.” Hildegard nodded. “Although honestly. . .I feel as though maybe you understand me well enough to say that I wanted his network too. Voldemort was making good work of uniting all the creatures that had been shafted by wizards through the ages. If he kept on as he was before he ran into you, he probably would’ve taken over the Ministry. Voldemort had no interest in actually ruling. It’s a lot of work. He only wanted to by name. That would’ve been my role. Once I got there, my plan was to do what needed to be done for people like me to not have to live in fear. _So_ much easier said than done, but I decided to worry about that once the time came.”

Even if Harry understood Hildegard better on this side of their visit, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with the idea of her in a position of absolute power. Harry wasn’t comfortable with _anyone_ having that, even if they had the best of intentions.

“Don’t worry about it now.” Hildegard waved a hand, chuckling mirthlessly. “I learned my lesson. If I ever get out of here, I’ll probably just go to Leidfall. I think I’ve made enough trouble for everyone, and my arse got spanked pretty thoroughly along the way. All I want now is to go home and just. . .have some peace and quiet.”

It wasn’t much longer after that the guard came by again to make sure everything was all right. Harry took it as chance to leave, since he was pretty sure he’d gotten more than enough from Hildegard for now. She was disappointed when he stood up. So was Harry, really. Talking to someone immortal—and close to Voldemort—was fascinating. Even if Harry didn’t end up with more information to help him accomplish his goals, the situation as a whole was a lot more colourful.

“I guess this is it for now,” Harry said to Hildegard as he stood outside her cell. “If I come back, I’ll bring you more chocolate.”

Hildegard smiled. “Bye, Harry.”


	32. Closure

Dagmar did her best not to make too much noise in the kitchen while Draco had an unplanned kip on the couch. They were expecting company at three, so Dagmar would rouse Draco soon. She heard a telltale sigh before she could. His hair standing up in places, Draco rubbed his face while ambling into the kitchen.

“That smells so good,” he said. “What’d you make?”

“Oh. . .a few things.” Dagmar glanced back at the countertop beside the sink, where everything cooled. “Some caramel apples, cookies, and then pumpkin bread and pie because I couldn’t decide on one or the other.”

“Do we have ice cream?” Draco opened the top of the ice box.

“Ja, I got some when I ran to the market.” Dagmar tsked. “You don’t want to wait until Potter gets here?”

“I guess I could.” Draco glanced over at the kitchen clock above the sink. “Yeah, I’ll wait on the pie, anyway.”

“One each of the pies and bread are meant for tomorrow, so just leave those ones alone.” Dagmar pointed at the ones she’d set aside. “Once the cookies cool, I’ll put the ones going to Agneta’s with them.”

“‘Kay.”

Draco grabbed a couple sweets before heading upstairs to get ready. Dagmar finished up, taking a ginger snap while she iced the sugar cookies. Unsure what the Ramstad family’s general opinion was on black liquorice, she only added the black sprinkles to half the cookies along with the orange flavoured ones.

Dagmar sat in the living room when Draco came back down with wet hair and a freshly-shaved face. Draco passed through the kitchen to get one of each cookie before joining Dagmar on the couch. He had a little smile on his face. “I love Halloween.”

“You’d better slow down,” Dagmar told him, endeared. “You’ll have a stomach ache at work tomorrow.”

“It’ll be worth it.”

Dagmar ran her hand over Draco’s thigh before returning to her homework. She was getting close to done when the fireplace turned from orange to green. Before Potter even had a chance to step out onto the threshold, Heimdall made a break along his usual path around through the kitchen and then upstairs. It didn’t faze Potter when he caught Heimdall disappearing into the bedroom out the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” Draco greeted him. “All right?”

“Yep.” Potter slipped off his jacket and shoes. “Smells good in here.”

“Hope you came with an empty stomach,” Dagmar only half-joked. She put her parchment in her Ethics textbook as a placeholder and closed it. “I went a little overboard this morning.”

“I could eat,” Potter said.

Draco stood. “Tea?”

“Sure.”

Dagmar followed the two of them to the kitchen. She hadn’t realized how long it’d been since Draco drank tea until he had to go digging for it behind the coffee. The pumpkin bread was finally cool enough to cut. Dagmar put half the loaf on a plate along with some of the cookies and slid it over toward Potter with some fresh butter. She sat down beside Draco, who waited now for the kettle to boil.

Draco handed Dagmar the bread he’d buttered before starting on a new one. Potter had taken a bite of his. While he chewed, he had an idle gaze on Dagmar.

“How is it?” Dagmar asked.

“Good.” Potter snapped out of his stare.

“Sure you’re all right?” Dagmar jested. “I got the impression that since we’re meeting in-person, there must be too much to write that you needed to say.”

Potter nodded and swallowed his mouthful. “Your mum opened right up once I told her it wasn’t a secret anymore that she was immortal—or something like that, anyway.”

“You don’t say.” Dagmar hadn’t gotten her hopes up.

“If she’s to be believed, it’s true.” Potter shrugged. “She’s not anymore, though. She said she had a phylactery, but it got destroyed.”

“Hm.” Dagmar still hadn’t fully embraced the idea that her mum dabbled in this kind of magic, although it made sense that her mum would better know how to construct a phylactery for Voldemort if she herself had one. “When?”

“She didn’t say, and I missed asking with the way the conversation went,” Potter said. “I’ve sort of put a timeline together from everything she told me. Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Here goes, then.” Potter took a smaller bite of his pumpkin bread before setting it on his plate. “Your mum was born on Christmas Day in 1339. I didn’t catch if Aslaug was older or younger than her, but there were other siblings as well. I also didn’t catch where exactly they lived, but wherever it was had the Black Death go through. The entire house came down with it and only your mum and Aslaug survived. Here’s an interesting little side-detail: your mum was a Ramstad. Before you ask, yes. Distantly related to your dad.”

Dagmar blinked. “Come again?”

“That’s what I thought. When I did the math, to say it was a distant relation is putting it mildly,” Potter said. “If you ever get a chance to look in the Ramstad family bible, you should be able to confirm she was a relative. She said she saw it in there when she met your dad’s family.”

Already, Dagmar’s mind was trying to slow down in attempt to process that. She took another bite of her bread. “We’re going there tomorrow. I’ll ask Agneta if I can borrow it.”

“That she’s a Ramstad is important later, but I don’t want to skip ahead. After her and Aslaug were left to fend for themselves, a druid found them and took them in. Freja, which is why the clan’s name was Frejasdottir. She told me it was _the_ Freja. Like Norse goddess Freja.”

Dagmar’s eyebrows rose.

“So your mum lived with this clan up until a couple hundred years ago,” Potter carried on. “Then they were all slaughtered, except for her and Helka. Your mum ran off to a place called Fantomøy. I don’t think I ever told you about that?”

“Nei,” Dagmar said.

“It’s somewhere on Trondheimsfjord,” Potter told Dagmar and Draco. “She lived on the island alone except for a huldra and a nøkken. Do you know what those are?”

Dagmar nodded, but Draco shook his head.

“They’re magical creatures,” Dagmar explained to Draco so that Potter could eat more bread. “Huldrene look like a young woman from the front, but they have a tail and their backsides are covered with bark. If you see their tail, they become camouflaged against the forest. Nøkken are similar, but they live in the water instead. They draw people in and then drown them. Huldrene do the same thing, but they just get people lost in the forest instead.”

“Hildegard used them as protection and company.” Potter took back over. “It sounded to me like she was just alone all that time. Then in the mid-seventies, she met Voldemort.”

“Under what pretence?” Dagmar hesitated to ask.

“Your mum sought him out,” Potter said. “She wanted to make a deal with him. Didn’t sound like she was afraid of him or anything, since she might have been more powerful than him. The basics of the deal was that she would offer him immortality in exchange for a position of power once he took over. Then she would just do what _she_ wanted, which was to make sure things like what she went through with her clan didn’t happen anymore. The way Parasca described what she was looking for was a benevolent dictatorship.”

“Herregud, Mum.” Dagmar leaned on the island, her fist pressed up into her cheek. “Are you serious?”

“This is what she told me.” Potter shrugged. “Er, this is where the timeline gets a little tighter. I’ll say up-front there’s a few things I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going through some family stuff. Last time we talked, I think both of us walked away with the impression that Magnus Norheim might be your biological father?”

Dagmar pursed her lips before gradually nodding. She braced herself to be disappointed yet again. Since she’d never actually known Magnus Norheim, it didn’t sting nearly as much as it could have.

“He’s not,” Potter confirmed what he’d implied. “I’m not sure who is. If you care to find out, I could ask your mum next time I’m out at Azkaban. I poked around at the possibility there might have been something like that between your mum and Voldemort, but she gave me a pretty funny look. At another point, she said their relationship was a business-like one. Voldemort saw her as an equal. That’s why she never took the Dark Mark.”

“I see.” Dagmar broke off a piece of her bread. “Honestly, at this point, I don’t know if I care. Blood or not, the Ramstads are my family. It’s only Uncle Håkon, Auntie Agneta, and their partners that know I’m not my dad’s biological daughter. Everyone else thinks I’m his, but apparently they wouldn’t care anyway if they _did_ know the truth. I have no reason not to believe that.”

“Okay.” Potter hesitated again. “The name Bjorn doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

Dagmar shook her head.

“You’d mentioned at one point when we were talking in the messenger that if your mum is older than you thought, you might have siblings,” Potter said. “You did have one. A brother. He died when you were young.”

“Oh.” Dagmar’s chest sunk in preparation for more bad news. “Was he much older than me?”

“Maybe younger, actually. Er. . .” Potter scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail and averted his gaze. “I ought to go back a little bit, just to get the whole story out. So your mum met Voldemort in the mid-seventies. He didn’t trust her right away, but at some point she must have earned it because she started constructing his phylactery. Somewhere in all this, you and Bjorn were born. I’m thinking if Voldemort had nothing to do with that—it’s just up in the air and could be completely irrelevant—maybe having an adult human around made your mum realize she wouldn’t mind having some kind of companionship. Your biological father might just be some random person from Trondheim.”

Dagmar shrugged. “My dad is the only one that mattered. He was the one that raised me.”

“Your mum had a lot to say about him—all good,” Potter said, “but I’ll get there in a minute. Your mum was holding onto Voldemort’s phylactery. He trusted her with it. It’s why Voldemort didn’t die back in—well, seventeen years ago today.”

Dagmar nodded, lips pressed. It had occurred to her that morning that it was the anniversary of Potter’s parents’ deaths. He didn’t seem particularly upset about it right now, although Dagmar thought she maybe saw a ghost of it pass through Potter’s expression in the beat of silence that followed.

“Then we come to March of 1982,” Potter kept on. “That’s when your mum met Magnus. This didn’t come from your mum, but Magnus’ sister, Marit. Magnus showed up on the island and got drawn in by the huldra and nøkken. Your mum saved him before he could drown. They ended up going together.”

Dagmar narrowed her eyes in thought. “So basically he would’ve been my stepdad before my dad came along.”

“Yeah, Marit said that Magnus liked filling in a role none of you had. He was trying to convince your mum to live on the mainland with him. Your mum wouldn’t though, and. . .well, for lack of a better word, things got a little fucked up after this.”

Yet again, Dagmar’s stomach sank in preparation for unpleasant information.

“Just to break the worst part of it first, Magnus accidentally killed Bjorn.” Potter focused on his plate, picking up crumbs from the bread with the pad of his thumb. “I think maybe there was some fighting going on, just when I look at the whole situation from the outside. Your mum had told Magnus about the phylactery, so he probably hated that. She wouldn’t go to the mainland with him. What I’m about to say will sound familiar to you, Dagmar. Bjorn was crying one night, and Magnus went to his room to see about it. He ended up smothering him.”

Nausea touched Dagmar’s throat. “Those nightmares I used to have.”

“Your mum said you saw the whole thing.”

Dagmar’s cheeks flushed. Both Draco and Potter were looking at her. Draco rested a hand on Dagmar’s knee, but it slid off when Dagmar got off the stool.

“Sorry,” she said on her way past them. “I need a minute.”

Initially, Dagmar intended just to go to the toilet. She turned before reaching the hallway and went up to the bedroom. She closed the door. Halfway to the bathroom, she changed her mind again and headed for the bed. Dagmar sat down on Draco’s side, breath ragged.

It all made sense now. The noise that woke Dagmar up in her nightmares, that was Bjorn crying in the next room. The hiss, Magnus shushing him. Dagmar had slipped out of bed and headed for the hallway. As she stood out there, everything went quiet and Dagmar felt sick. However old she was, did that mean she knew what happened? Or that something was just very wrong for crying to stop like that? Dagmar had pushed open the bedroom door beside hers and she couldn’t bear what she saw when she looked up. Maybe it wasn’t Magnus’ face that terrified her. Maybe Dagmar saw something else that her mind, while still processing later, couldn’t allow her to see again.

The bed jostled behind Dagmar. She glanced back with a sniffle. “Hey, little boy.”

Heimdall came over, nose poked ahead in investigation. He sat beside Dagmar. One pet and he started to purr.

“Aw, look how sweet you are,” Dagmar told him in Norwegian. “Did you come out of hiding to cheer me up?”

Dagmar laid down on her back. She smiled when Heimdall half-laid on her stomach and rested his chin on her sternum. Heimdall closed his eyes as Dagmar ran her nails rhythmically over his head.

His eyes opened again. Dagmar then heard footsteps on the stairs as well. When a light knock came at the bedroom door, Heimdall lifted his head and stopped purring.

“Dagmar?” It was Draco.

“Ja?”

Draco studied Dagmar as he set the door back against the frame. Dagmar idly rubbed Draco’s lower back when he sat down beside her.

“Stupid question, but are you all right?” Draco asked.

Dagmar shrugged. “I’ll be okay. I just didn’t expect that. I don’t remember there being a baby around. If I didn’t have those nightmares, I wouldn’t have any clue at all. My mum never talked about him.”

“Potter said your mum did that on purpose.” Draco brushed a piece of hair off Dagmar’s forehead. “You asked about him less over time. Other than the nightmares, she figured you blocked it out.”

“Did Potter say how old I was when Bjorn died?”

“Two and a half.”

Dagmar nodded idly, petting Heimdall again.

“Does knowing about it jog your memory?” Draco hesitantly asked.

“Nei,” Dagmar replied. “The nightmare just makes more sense.”

“I’m sorry, love.” Draco sighed through his nose. “That’s just. . .”

“Ja.” Dagmar nudged Heimdall so that she could sit up. “All of it, really. Could it even be true? I mean, some stuff fits, but. . .”

More than just Bjorn was difficult to process. Dagmar had no memories of her mum that hinted toward the things Potter said. Could she really be over six-hundred years old? The number boggled Dagmar’s mind.

“I mean. . .” Dagmar tucked her hair behind her ear. “How old was Nicolas Flamel when he died? He was older than my mum, wasn’t he?”

“Nearly seven-hundred, I think.” Draco narrowed an eye in thought. “I remember reading about it in the Prophet when I was thirteen or something.”

“Ja.” Dagmar rubbed her face, tired. “Is Potter still here?”

Draco nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you were done or not.”

“Nei.” Dagmar headed for the bathroom. “I want to hear him out.”

Draco waited for her, petting Heimdall until Dagmar came back out with a fresher face and hair tie in hand. She put her hair up in a ponytail as she followed Draco back downstairs. Dagmar was slightly embarrassed by her dry, irritated eyes. Potter respected it by not acknowledging it with a lingering gaze.

“Sorry,” Dagmar apologized anyway. She took the long way around the kitchen island so that she could pull a couple tissues out of the box on the windowsill. “Might as well get these, just in case.”

Potter laughed, but faltered quickly with an unsure look between Dagmar and Draco. He relaxed when Draco snorted, and Dagmar smiled as she took her seat again. With a heavy and quick exhale, Dagmar took a new bite from her bread.

“You were saying?” Dagmar asked Potter.

“Erm. . .” Potter idly swirled his tea. “Well, first of all, should be _me_ saying sorry. I know this is a lot to drop on you. I’ve known for a while about Bjorn, but I didn’t know if it was right or even my place to tell you. I’m still not really sure.”

“It’s tough, but I appreciate knowing.” Dagmar sniffled lightly. “Even if I don’t get the nightmares anymore, it’s some kind of closure to know why I had them in the first place. I don’t really get why they stopped when I met Voldemort, though.”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Potter said. “Something might come to mind if you know everything, though.”

Dagmar nodded. “Ja.”

“Okay, so. . .Bjorn.” Potter took a drink. “You mum didn’t say explicitly, but I think Magnus left before your mum found out. He might’ve just left a note or something, took Voldemort’s phylactery, and was gone. He wrote his sister a letter in January of 1983, saying he was going abroad with your mum. Clearly that wasn’t the case. He was just going, period.”

Dagmar tried to remember anything that had followed the moments in her nightmare, but nothing came. “I guess he couldn’t tell his sister ‘hey, I have Voldemort’s phylactery, and I’m going to destroy it. By the way, he’ll be back. When he is, he’s going to know that I was involved in this. We’ll probably be murdered for it.’”

“It might not be destroyed, though,” Potter replied. “Your mum said that Magnus wouldn’t do that. There’s something about it that protects it. Magnus would just want to keep it.”

“Hm.” Dagmar pursed her lips.

“Your mum left Fantomøy with you after all that,” Potter kept on. “I didn’t ask why, but it doesn’t take much to think she just couldn’t be there anymore. She went to Tromsø with you, said she struggled quite a bit trying to figure out how the wizarding world worked. That’s when she met your dad.”

“Right.”

“She didn’t give me any specifics about their relationship, but it didn’t start romantically or whatever.” Potter took a quick bite of a ginger snap. “Your mum said he saw that she was having trouble and wanted to help. She trusted him because he was a Ramstad. She said something about pulling the family card if the situation ever went the way like it did with Magnus. She never had to, obviously. Your mum even forgot most of the time that Erik wasn’t actually your dad.”

It was a good thing Dagmar had grabbed some tissues. Her eyes welled up again. She dabbed one before anything had a chance to fall. “Nice to know I didn’t imagine that, then.”

“Nope,” Potter said. “She didn’t tell him anything about her history until later. She had no luck finding Voldemort’s phylactery. She wanted Magnus for herself, for killing Bjorn. Your mum gave your dad a free pass to leave, but he wouldn’t take it. He took the Dark Mark instead when Voldemort returned. Given how tangled up your mum was with Voldemort, it was probably the only thing your dad could do to stay with you and her.”

Dagmar dabbed an eye again. She would’ve gone with her dad if he left her mum, provided she had the choice.

Potter gave her a moment. “Your mum said she has a lot of regrets about it all. She said that her and your dad basically neglected you the last few years while they were trying to tie up loose ends with Voldemort. I’ve been thinking about it all week, and I sort of get it. She said Voldemort was about the exact opposite of happy she lost his phylactery, and it’s worth mentioning again her own was destroyed. She’s mortal now, which—as an aside—might be why she’s aging again. It might even be why she decided to have kids at all, at this point. Your mum said that all she really wanted now was to live out her life with you and your dad. She was vulnerable if she went against Voldemort. Without a phylactery, he could’ve killed her if she refused to make right by him.”

“You said she wanted Magnus, though.”

“Yeah, so it’s not like she was being forced.” Potter nodded. “You can take all that as you will. Like I said, she got chatty.”

“No kidding.” Dagmar braced her jaw as she leaned forward on the island. “I can’t believe you got all that out of her.”

Smiling tightly, Potter shrugged. “Sometimes it just takes one little thing.”

“Don’t take it you’ve gotten anything useful out of my father?” Draco spoke up.

Potter shook his head. “Honestly haven’t really needed to. Hildegard told me about the phylactery in the first place because I told her if she wanted a deal, it was only fair I offered the same thing to your dad. He did confirm that they were chasing Magnus for the phylactery.”

“Did they say what the phylactery was?” Draco ran his thumb over his cup of tea. “I’m curious what You-Know-Who would consider valuable enough to put his soul into.”

“A locket,” Potter answered. “Dumbledore figures one that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Slytherin had one that Dumbledore lost track of after Voldemort’s mum’s family had it back in the 1920s or so. Voldemort’s grandpa on his mum’s side got framed by him for killing the Riddle family, so Voldemort was in the area. He could’ve found the locket and realized what it was. The only family member he ever felt any kind of kinship with was Salazar Slytherin, so his locket is something Voldemort would’ve cherished.”

“So what do you do now, then?” Draco asked. “Just chase after Magnus and hope you find him before You-Know-Who?”

“Pretty much.” Potter picked at a sugar cookie. “I’m thinking about asking Dumbledore what his opinion might be on trying to reach out to Magnus. He probably reads the papers a lot to try and see what’s going on while he’s in hiding. We could get the phylactery that way, and then. . .well, the whole thing with Bjorn makes it complicated. In a totally just world, Magnus would see justice for that. That might be why he hasn’t come forward yet, or at least sent Dumbledore an owl saying ‘I’ve left the phylactery here for you to pick up, but I’m long gone’.”

“Hm.” Dagmar was torn. “Ja, I don’t know what I’d like seen done with him if he gets found. It’s sad to think that nobody but him and my mum really knew Bjorn. I wouldn’t have minded a sibling growing up, I don’t think. I feel bad for my mum probably having to bury him all by herself. I wonder if she talked to my dad about him. I can’t imagine packing that around for so long, never celebrating his birthdays, not getting to know who he was, just. . .pretending to the world you never had a son.”

With a grimace close to a sneer, Draco tensed as a shiver ran through his shoulders. “The thought of losing one is horrifying.”

Dagmar played idly with her engagement ring as she tried to think how she would feel if that ever happened. More so, how she would feel if it was Draco’s fault. It made Dagmar nauseous.

That lingered in Dagmar’s throat as she, Draco, and Potter made an honest attempt at otherwise catching up. It didn’t go so well under weight of everything Potter had originally come to visit for. They all still chatted for another hour or so, Dagmar staying mostly quiet. It was with a degree of relief Dagmar and Draco saw Potter to the fireplace. Dagmar had filled Potter’s hands with baked goods in further attempt to get rid of the overflow. It was a stroke to her pride that Potter accepted them with a satisfied smile. He’d had a chance to try a bit of everything except for a caramel apple. Dagmar sent him with two, figuring Pansy might see Potter coming home with only one as some kind of personal slight.

Dagmar headed back for the kitchen to clean up after Potter had left. Draco wasn’t far behind. He opened the ice box again. “What did you decide for dinner?”

“Yorkshire pudding, but I completely forgot about putting the roast in the oven,” Dagmar replied as she started putting cookies into containers. “Every time Potter has information to drop on me, it’s something I don’t expect and I get a little messed up.”

“No one blames you for that.” Draco pulled the roast out. “Could you preheat the oven?”

“Mhm.” Dagmar paused what she was doing to tap it with her wand.

Draco rustled around in the pot cupboard to bring one out for broth. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Tired,” Dagmar replied. “Thinking, too. Just letting it all sink in. Debating if I should get too invested in anything my mum says before I have a chance to see first if it’s even true. Then again, my mum hasn’t really ever been an outright liar. She lies by omission instead.”

“Yeah.”

Dagmar chewed briefly on her lower lip. “But I don’t know who comes up with a story like that. I believe Potter when he says my dad only joined the Death Eaters so that he could stay close to me and my mum. I don’t know that he could leave anyway. He was friends with your father before Voldemort came back. It was him, not my mum, that they moved to Britain for with the manor and all. If my mum told my dad about the phylactery and stuff, Voldemort might have hunted him down. He would’ve been on the run like Magnus. Voldemort went above and beyond to keep his phylactery secret for as long as possible. He wouldn’t even tell people like Crabbe and Goyle’s dads about it, even though they were helping to get it back.

“My mum would know how to make a phylactery if the process had been done for her before,” Dagmar said. “I always wondered why she didn’t have a Dark Mark too. She told me once that there are ways to serve him without it. Maybe that’s what she meant.”

“Could be.”

“I just can’t wrap my mind around her saying she’s over six-hundred years old.” Dagmar snapped a lid onto the container of ginger snaps she intended for Agneta’s. “The thing is, she could be, if she had a phylactery. If she’s not telling the truth, what could she possibly be hiding behind something _that_ big? And with my brother? Sure, it explains my nightmares, but Mum could’ve come up with that story after hearing what my nightmares were like. I remember telling her about them in detail when I was younger. And as for being a Ramstad, if she saw the family bible, she might’ve just seen someone named Hildegard born in thirteen-whatever. I just have no idea why she’d lie about any of it, unless there’s no reason other than to make herself seem more important than she really is.

“I don’t want to grieve a dead brother if he didn’t actually exist,” Dagmar said. “If my mum is up to something, if she’s hiding something bigger or just lying, I refuse to be fooled. At the same time. . .if Bjorn existed and my mum is telling the truth, he had a _huge_ influence on my life. If Magnus never hurt him, I might’ve grown up with a different dad. I might still live on Fantomøy. Even if Magnus convinced my mum to move to the mainland, I would’ve never come to Britain. I probably would’ve just gone to Kapsferd. I don’t even think it would’ve mattered that much when Voldemort came back. He would’ve checked in with my mum to make sure his phylactery was still intact, and then if he took over. . .we would’ve been safe.”

“Well, on the plus side, that all doesn’t necessarily mean you and I wouldn’t have met.” Draco glanced over from where he pat salt and pepper down on the roast. “My family would’ve been in a similar position.”

“I guess.”

That was at least a comforting thought in the midst of so much turmoil. Dagmar put off her chore to go over to Draco. Arms around his middle from behind, she rested her head on his shoulder.

“There’s no point dwelling.” Dagmar rubbed Draco’s stomach. “It’s sure hard not to though, when I finally have some sort of information on just why my life went the way it did.”

“Maybe a bit of closure?”

Dagmar shrugged. “What makes me most nervous is what happens if my mum ends up getting out of Azkaban.”

“Sorry, I need to wash my hands,” Draco said as he walked out of Dagmar’s grasp. He ran the sink. “What about if she does?”

“She’s going to want to see me, to talk to me.” Dagmar leaned her hip against the counter. “I don’t know how I feel about that. The idea of seeing her again actually makes me nauseous. At the same time, I kind of want to hear her out if she’s willing to finally be fully honest with me. I mean. . .she’s my mum. Even if I don’t like her, I still love her.”

“We can cross that bridge when it comes,” Draco spoke over his shoulder. “It’ll all be up to you. She doesn’t have much a position to take other than grovelling and begging for forgiveness, way I see it.”

“I could probably forgive her.” Dagmar’s stomach twisted. “I just don’t know if that means we have a relationship going forward. Given that she has nobody else, I feel obligated to. I don’t want her to be lonely.”

“Sounds like she’s used to it.” Draco rejoined Dagmar where she stood. “You’re not obligated to do anything.”

“I know, but I feel like it.”

Draco slipped a hand into Dagmar’s. She took it as invitation closer, opting to put her arms around his shoulders instead. Draco rubbed her back and kissed the side of her head.

“It’ll be okay,” he told her. “No matter what.”

Dagmar nuzzled his neck. “I always feel like it will be, when you tell me that.”

With the cottage returning to the warm and homey atmosphere, Dagmar started to look at the perks of what Potter had said. She actually was a Ramstad, if her mum was truthful. Maybe her relation to everyone she’d met a few weeks ago was far from ordinary, but they really were her family. Dagmar was even more eager to get her hands on the family bible. It might have other answers, like where her immediate family was from. She knew now she was born in Trondheim, and had been given a glimpse of her early life.

Dagmar was still scared of Magnus. This was a man that had probably held her when she was a toddler, fed her, and tucked her in at night. Dagmar might have even called him Pappa first. He was capable of killing a child, though? Even by accident? Was he _that_ frustrated with Bjorn’s crying? The thought disturbed Dagmar. She tried to imagine what it would’ve been like for her mum, not much older than Dagmar was now, waking up to find her bed empty, her son dead, and her boyfriend gone.

Since Dagmar didn’t have children and loss was such an uncommon experience of parenthood, she forced herself to let go of that fear for her own future. Dagmar and Draco would be older than her mum and Magnus, when they had children. Draco was accustomed now to weird sleep schedules. For the first few months of parenthood, they would have nothing but the baby to focus on. For all Dagmar knew too, Magnus had anger problems. Draco had become very laid back.

Dagmar spent the evening after dinner going through the photo albums she’d found while cleaning out Ramstad Manor. She’d brought them down from the loft library, intent to take to Agneta’s tomorrow evening. Dagmar got home a little after three from her Sunday clinic and spent the hour until Draco arrived taking a long, hot shower.

It took some work on Draco’s part to match her in cleanliness after spending the day chasing down the firedrakes. Dragonologists from the Nat Ma Taung Reserve in Myanmar/Burma had arrived to take all but Jormundr, Bal, and Dio to their new home in Southeast Asia.

“Sad to see them all go?” Dagmar asked Draco as he towelled off.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I’d joke and say they could’ve taken Jormundr after the little episode he had this afternoon, but he’s just upset that the four of them are gone.”

“Aw, poor little guy.” Dagmar tsked.

Draco secured his towel around his waist. “I wish we could’ve kept them all together, but Gunvor already promised them away. Alex, Leo, Hanna, Masha, and I are going to start building a habitat tomorrow for the other three for the winter. I’m thinking about sending an owl to everyone from my Care of Magical Creatures class to let them know where their firedrake wound up. Hagrid for sure would want to know.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Draco didn’t have time to do it before they left for Agneta’s. Dagmar loaded him up with all the baking she intended to take while she herself carried photo albums, her great-grandpa’s medals, and the little bag of her dad’s ashes that was labelled _Oslofjord_.

In Oslo, snowflakes drifted past the torches that lit Agneta’s back deck. Enough had fallen for a skiff to cover it.

“Hey, kiddo,” Uncle Håkon greeted Dagmar. He sat with a couple of the cousins Dagmar couldn’t remember the name of. “What’ve you got there?”

Draco touched Dagmar’s arm. “I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna drop all this off in the kitchen.”

“Okay.” Dagmar smiled at him before turning back to Håkon. “Just a few things. What’ve _you_ got?”

Håkon and his cousins had pictures from Dagmar’s dad’s youth. A celebration of life for her dad had drawn largely the same crowd as the family meeting. There were people Dagmar hadn’t met yet—marital partners, more distant family, and some of her dad’s old friends—and there were more kids than just baby Else. Dagmar could hear them all playing somewhere deeper in the house.

Draco returned with a plate stacked with appetizers. Agneta came as well and pulled Dagmar aside from where she talked to Håkon’s little crew.

“I can take your jacket,” Agneta told her, “and the ashes too, if that’s all right. There’s a lot going on. I’d hate to see them get lost or spilled.”

“Of course.” Dagmar brought the little bag out of her pocket and handed it over before shrugging off her jacket.

Agneta smiled warmly. “There’s _plenty_ of food in the kitchen. If you’re peckish or have any room in your stomach at all, please help yourself.”

“I think Draco’s got us started.” Dagmar glanced back where Draco was eating a piece of brunost. “We’ll make a few passes, I’m sure.”

Dagmar ate only a small lunch in anticipation for the evening. She sat down next to Draco, Flor, Nils, Påske, and Viglaug. They all caught up, and Dagmar played a little with Else before nipping into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She brought one back for Draco as well.

As everyone arrived and settled, the small groups of people opened up more into one that encompassed the whole room. The stories being told about her dad were of great interest to Dagmar, since she didn’t know terribly much about her dad’s youth. His generation of the Ramstad family was quite large. Even though Dagmar’s dad spent his summers and holidays calling Ramstad Manor his home, attending Kapsferd and then travelling when not in school kept him close to his relatives.

In kind, not many people knew much about the last ten or fifteen of Dagmar’s dad’s years. Dagmar filled in some of the gaps as best she could, since being away at school didn’t give her much opportunity to spend her teenage years with him. They took a lot of trips over the summers though, and of course there were the years in Bergen that Dagmar treasured as ideal.

Dagmar wasn’t embarrassed about occasionally getting teary-eyed when so many other people were doing the same. The numbers started to whittle down around six-thirty, since the parents of the bunch needed to get their little ones home. By eight, it was just Agneta, Mathias, Håkon, Ella, Påske, and Viglaug, along with Dagmar and Draco. They all moved into the kitchen to graze again and have more coffee as they waited for Flor to return. She was a little red in the cheeks when she flooed in.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Else was hungry. Are we ready, then?”

Agneta and Mathias apparated them all one-by-one down to their yacht on Oslofjord. The air was cold, but the clouds had cleared somewhat after the snow stopped. Underneath a half-sky of stars, Dagmar watched as Håkon opened the small baggie of her dad’s ashes at the yacht’s side. Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand in attempt not to cry again as the ashes fell like grey dust to the water’s surface. It didn’t work.

“I love you, baby brother,” Håkon said. “I always think about you when I fish, but now you’ll actually be with me.”

Dagmar had to take a moment to gather herself when Håkon asked if she had anything she wanted to say. She kept it simple: “I miss you, and I think about you everyday.”

The evening was getting on when they returned to Agneta’s house. Dagmar was physically tired and emotionally drained. She would’ve forgotten about the family bible if Draco didn’t remind her.

“Right,” Dagmar replied under her breath before turning back to Agneta. “I was thinking, I don’t really know a whole lot about the family history. Would it be okay if I borrowed the family bible? I could bring it back at the next Sunday dinner, or even sooner if you’d rather.”

“Oh, sure,” Agneta agreed without hesitation. “Just a minute.”

She headed deeper into the house. When she came back, it was with a book big enough to pass as a Hogwarts textbook and old enough to have probably existed before the four founders broke ground.

“Just be very careful with it,” Agneta told her. “There are preservation spells holding it together, but there’s only so much those can do.”

“I will,” Dagmar promised as she accepted it. “We’ll trade back in December.”

Agneta laughed, for Dagmar’s photo albums had remained on the table set up in the family room. Hosting company, Agneta hadn’t had the time she wanted to go through them. The medals would be staying too, although more permanently.

The fireplace was low when Dagmar stepped out of it at home. Draco yawned loudly as he slipped his jacket off.

“I’m thinking straight to bed?” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Ja.” Dagmar set the family bible down on the coffee table. “I don’t even have the energy to look for my mum in this tonight.”

Dagmar could hardly stay awake long enough to kiss Draco before falling asleep, let along snog him. A better chance came in the morning, since both of them slept long and hard enough to be well-rested before the sun even thought about rising. A snog ended up putting Dagmar in a silly mood to start her Monday, and Draco was just fine to skip breakfast in lieu of staying in bed long enough for a shag. Having to wash up afterward put them in a bit of a rush for Draco to make it to work on time, but Dagmar still had another hour to kill before heading to the hospital.

She used it to go through the family bible. Not too far from the back, she found herself:

_Erik Ramstad - Hildegard Frejasdottir (m. 1986, Bergen)  
_ _\- Dagmar (1980)_

Dagmar delved deeper, being careful with the pages as she flipped back to the mid 1300s. Her heart picked up as she found something promising:

_Bjorn Ramstad - Dagmar Haagen (m. 1334, Roskilde)  
_ _\- Rune (1335 - 1350)  
_ _\- Aslaug (1336 - ?)  
_ _\- Sten (1338 - 1350)  
_ _\- Hildegard (1339 - ?)  
_ _\- Thurid (1342 - 1350)_

There was something written beneath it in Old Norse, but Dagmar couldn’t read it. There was enough for Dagmar to understand. Provided her mum told the truth, these were Dagmar’s biological aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Dagmar didn’t realize she’d been named after not only her aunt, but her grandmother.

 _Morning,_ Dagmar wrote Potter in the messenger. _I got the family bible last night. Looking through it I found my mum right where she said she’d be. Says she was born in 1339 in Roskilde (in Denmark). Everyone but her and Aslaug is marked off as having died in 1350. So take that as you will._


	33. Family

“Well, that’s it,” Dagmar told Ingrid as she pulled some gloves off. “My last practicum hours until after exams.”

Ingrid had Dagmar’s paperwork for it in her hands to sign off on. “What about your maternity clinic, though?”

“Oh, I’ll still have that.” Dagmar leaned against the hallway wall. “That’ll be a nice break from studying.”

“Will babysitting?” Ingrid nudged her.

Dagmar brightened. “Definitely.”

“Roar should be here with the girls,” Ingrid said. “We might as well find them and get you on your way. Honestly cannot _wait_ to fuck Roar’s brains out tonight.”

Dagmar tilted her head back as she laughed. She and Draco had watched Ragna and Solveig for an evening here and there while Ingrid and Roar had time alone as a couple. The girls had never stayed overnight before, though. Ingrid figured they were comfortable enough at Dagmar and Draco’s to do that now, despite the odd incident (Solveig got bitten on the finger by a garden gnome once). In preparation for it, Ingrid had taken the next day off work. She and Roar had an inn room booked somewhere in Oslo for the night.

Roar and the girls were in the hospital foyer. Ragna and Solveig looked excited with their little backpacks. Solveig leaned over the side of the fountain to put her hand in the water. Roar was coaxing her away from it when Dagmar and Ingrid approached.

“Mamma!” Solveig was distracted from the fountain. Hands still wet, she latched on around Ingrid’s middle.

Ingrid fondly ran her fingers through Solveig’s hair. “Did you remember Tiamat?”

“Ja,” Solveig chirped. “She’s in my bag.”

“I’ll see you two tomorrow afternoon, then.” Ingrid squeezed Solveig and then Ragna. “You two be good, and make sure you have fun.”

“We will.” Ragna waved at Roar. “Bye, Pappa.”

Ragna and Solveig were small enough that Dagmar could apparate with both of them. She led them over to the apparation point and told them to hold their breath and close their eyes. Solveig made a show about it, puffing her cheeks out and clenching her eyes. Ragna was more dignified. She let go of Dagmar’s hand when they arrived outside the garden door.

Draco’s boots were on the mat inside. He appeared at the top of the stairs as Dagmar instructed the girls to take theirs off. “What’s this? Company?”

“Yep, Mamma and Pappa are going to Oslo,” Ragna replied in all seriousness, even though Draco was obviously faking surprise. “Solveig brought something cool to show you.”

“Oh really?” Draco asked. “Let me get changed, and then I’d like to see.”

Dagmar took the girls over to the living room to get them unpacked and settled in. She’d moved all of her school books and the Ramstad family bible upstairs that morning so that the coffee table could be taken over by someone else for a while. As soon as Solveig put her bag down, she unzipped it and pulled out a big stuffed doll of a dragon. The dragon had five heads that were red, white, blue, black, and green.

“Whoa, what kind of dragon is that?” Dagmar asked her.

“This is Tiamat,” Solveig said matter-of-factly. “In the game we play with Pappa, we just made her our friend.”

“How did you do it?” Dagmar asked. “I thought Tiamat was really evil, and that’s why you were trying to beat her.”

“We were so smart.” Ragna swelled up with a wide smile. “I told Tiamat to take a card from our magic deck. She picked the one that switches her from evil to good.”

“You should’ve seen Pappa’s face!” Solveig yelled. “He loved it.”

“I bet he did. That _was_ really smart,” Dagmar told them. “Does that mean the game is over?”

“Ja, we saved the world,” Ragna said. “We’re all heroes now. Pappa’s gonna start us a new one. I might try ranger. That’s kind of what Draco is really like, isn’t he?”

“Druid,” Solveig said.

“Ranger is more to do with animals.” Ragna shook her head.

“Druid you can turn into animals.”

Ragna looked at Dagmar. “Can Draco do that?”

“Nei.” Dagmar glanced over at the stairs when Draco reappeared. “He could probably learn, but he prefers to be friends with them.”

“What’s this about me?” Draco asked, then looked at the stuffed dragon in Solveig’s arms. “Who’s _that?_ ”

“Tiamat!” Solveig’s eyes lit up again.

Dagmar headed upstairs to change now that Draco could supervise the girls. They fell over themselves to tell Draco the end of the story for their campaign, and to compare more how dragons behaved in the game versus real life. The girls had also brought their dice for the game to show Dagmar and Draco. While Draco entertained them in the living room, Dagmar started prepping for dinner. Ragna and Solveig would come through the kitchen once in a while to show Dagmar something. As it came closer to time to make burgers and fries, Draco brought the girls to the kitchen to help. He reminded them to wash their hands at the sink before handling ground turkey.

It was a fun night with only a few hiccups, the primary one being Solveig not wanting to sleep alone. Ragna was okay about them sharing a bed. Since Draco was currently on dayshift, he was awake along with Dagmar in the morning when the girls emerged from what had been Ragna’s old bedroom. The sun from yesterday had disappeared in favour of low temperatures and rain, so the girls stayed inside after everyone got dressed. They’d been around often enough and posed no threat to Heimdall, so he didn’t scramble to get outside when he saw they were still here. Heimdall even tolerated being pet by Ragna as he tried to curl up in front of the fireplace.

Ingrid and Roar showed up a little after noon to get the girls. Neither Ragna or Solveig was receptive to going home. They were clever enough to realize that if they mentioned Tiamat, it would get Roar going on as well.

“They’re going to meet someone named Xanathar next, I think,” Roar said with a wink at the girls, who looked delighted. “Thanks for watching them.”

“Anytime,” Draco replied.

Ragna and Solveig gave Dagmar and Draco each a hug and said thank you. Rather than relief at the empty cottage with their departure, Dagmar was a little bummed about it.

“Well?” Dagmar poked Draco. “What’s the plan for the rest of the weekend?”

They didn’t have a whole lot on their plate other than just relaxing before Dagmar started seriously studying for exams. Friday was definitely an inside day. Saturday both warmed and cleared up enough for an afternoon hike through Bergens Fjellstrekninger to Nordneshytten and back. Dagmar headed to the hospital Sunday morning feeling like the weekend ended too soon. She’d enjoyed playing house. For that, Dagmar was happy to touch base with all the women in her clinic. She’d grown fond of Jorunn’s kids, since three of them (all but the one that started at Kapsferd in August) and her husband came with.

“It _must_ be soon,” Jorunn said with a wrinkled nose as she settled the baby. He was big enough now that, when he rolled over in her womb, the imprint of a foot pressed against her abdomen wall. “What do you think?”

“You’d know better than me,” Dagmar joked. “You’ll be the first woman in the clinic to actually have their baby unless someone else makes grand strides. Baby’s dropped. Your false contractions are getting more frequent, you said?”

“Mhm. It’s when they start getting worse rather than better if I move around you’ll see me over in the ward with my feet in stirrups.”

Jorunn was tired all the time too, another sign she told Dagmar was indicative of an imminent arrival. Dagmar hadn’t really thought about it, but Jorunn asked her if it would benefit her clinic work to be present during. It would, so Dagmar readily accepted the invitation.

Dagmar had a few walk-ins for the clinic as it wound down after two o’clock. She took a moment to review the chart of the first walk-in before knocking on the door. A woman that looked to be in her late twenties sat on the table with a passive expression. She seemed to come out of a reverie as Dagmar entered the room.

“Hello,” Dagmar greeted her in English, since her chart said she was from Britain. “How are you?”

“Good.” She glanced down at Dagmar’s extended hand before taking it.

“My name’s Dagmar, although I’m sure you picked that up somewhere along the way. What would you prefer I call you?”

“Oh, just Beatrice is fine,” she replied.

“And what can I do for you today, Beatrice?”

“I just wanted to know if I’m pregnant or not.” Beatrice shifted where she sat. “They said at St. Mungo’s that that’s something you can do.”

“I can. It’s quite simple, really.” Dagmar set Beatrice’s paperwork aside. “I have an inherent magical ability to tune into electrical currents, including within the human body. Blood is a conductor. If you happen to have two heartbeats, I’ll feel it. Before I do that, I’ll just need your consent to put my hand on you. You may feel. . .it’s been described as sort of a rush by other patients, kind of like adrenaline, but not. Also be aware that when I use my ability, the blue parts of my eyes luminesce. You probably won’t see it as much since the room is well-lit, but I’d prefer you be prepared for all parts of the process.”

While Dagmar spoke, Beatrice stared hard at her. She gave a jerky nod afterward.

“All right,” Dagmar said. “Would you prefer to sit or lay down?”

“I’ll just sit.”

“I’ll need access to the centre of your chest over your heart. Would you be so kind as to undo the top couple buttons of your shirt?”

Beatrice nodded again before setting on the task. “Oh, you’re engaged?”

“Hm?” Dagmar followed Beatrice’s gaze to her ring. “Ja, I am.”

“What’s _he_ do?”

“He’s a dragonologist.” Dagmar kept it simple. Normally in conversation she would elaborate or else ask the same question in kind, but not all women that came to the clinic were in a situation where their child was planned. Unless Beatrice became a mainstay or provided the information on her own, Dagmar didn’t dig. “Ready?”

“Mhm.”

Beatrice settled back into a stare as Dagmar placed her hand over Beatrice’s heart. Dagmar ignored it as she set about the simple task. Beatrice’s heart rate was elevated, but alone. A few moments later, Dagmar pulled back and then removed her touch.

“Unless you’re less than a month along, you’re not pregnant,” Dagmar told her.

“Okay.” Beatrice didn’t seem relieved or disappointed, the usual reactions Dagmar got from giving that news. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Although Dagmar thought Beatrice a little strange, that impression slipped out of Dagmar’s mind as she tended to the other walk-ins. Dagmar was also looking forward to spending an hour after work with Draco before he headed up to Jotunheimen for his first evening shift of the new rotation. Since Dagmar no longer had practicum hours, she was able to spend Monday and Tuesday afternoon with him. On Wednesday, Arne waited for Dagmar outside the program’s classroom at noon.

“Jorunn came in about an hour ago,” he told Dagmar. “She’s in labour.”

On baby number five, Dagmar knew better than to dawdle. An hour didn’t mean much at that point, especially since Jorunn had a good sense of how close she was to the final push. Jorunn and her husband were without a baby when Dagmar arrived at their room.

“Hey,” Dagmar greeted her, relieved she hadn’t missed it. “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, you know.” Jorunn gestured at herself. She was sweating from the pain and her heart rate was elevated as blood pumped down into the baby.

“He’s active,” Dagmar told them. “Ready to come out, I think.”

“You think, _I_ know,” Jorunn found it in her to joke.

Since it was still a little ways off, given that Jorunn wasn’t dilated to the point her son’s head could pass, Dagmar nipped to her locker next to write Draco a note that she might not see him before he left. She then grabbed a quick lunch from the cafeteria.

Dagmar stayed in Jorunn’s room after she got back. Everything seemed to be going normally. There was no distress in the baby. Dagmar checked on Jorunn here and there. Even with a degree of separation, Dagmar could feel just how strong and tight Jorunn’s contractions were. Her face said it all too.

Another Healer came by with growing frequency to check how dilated Jorunn was. It wasn’t until three o’clock the baby’s head finally passed her cervix. Dagmar stepped back at that point to give Jorunn and her husband the space they needed, although stayed close by just in case she was needed for anything. She ended up a spectator to the half-hour Jorunn spent bearing down to push her baby out. Dagmar’s eyes widened by their own accord when, finally, he gave.

“Aw, here he is,” the delivering Healer said before she set him on Jorunn’s chest.

Dagmar couldn’t see the baby as he was rubbed clean with a fuzzy towel, although the harsh cry was a familiar sound to Dagmar. Her eyes welled up from all the emotion in the room while tears streamed similarly down Jorunn’s temples.

“It’s okay,” she cooed. “You made it.”

Dagmar quietly slipped out of the room to give them some privacy. Everything had gone well with delivery, so she had about five minutes to get herself together before it was time to assess the newborn. Dagmar was aware her eyes were still a little red when the Healer passed her by with the crying baby in her arms.

“Look at this happy little boy,” the Healer chirped at Dagmar. “What a loud way to come into this world!”

Little Njal, as Jorunn and her husband named him, was a hearty crier. He also punched and kicked at the other Healer as she stimulated him with rubs to his little arms and legs. Dagmar counted his heart rate to still be over a hundred beats per minute. After assessing that Njal also had good colour to him, he was returned to Jorunn for something to eat.

He’d latched when Dagmar came back to the room a little later. Jorunn still wiped tears off her face, and her husband wore such an acute expression of love that Dagmar could hardly look at him.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Dagmar said. “I wanted to say congratulations before I left. He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Jorunn smiled. “I’ll see you around?”

“Ja,” Dagmar replied. “You must be staying the night? I’ll pop in on you tomorrow before class starts to see how you’re doing.”

“See you in the morning, then.”

Dagmar felt somewhat like she was floating as she left the maternity ward a little past four-thirty. Her emotions left little room with how brightly her euphoria burned to have witnessed the start of a new life. Dagmar could hardly get her jacket on thanks to trembling hands. She ended up forgetting her class notes in her locker, but decided a few steps shy of the apparation point that tonight was a write-off for exam review. Dagmar would never be able to focus.

She headed upstairs when she got home to change—

Dagmar was disoriented then, when she opened her eyes to a fully-dark bedroom. She felt beyond nauseous. She leaned for the side of the bed and realized with bare seconds to spare that she was laying on Draco’s side. Dagmar had to turn the other way before she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

Heart and head pounding, Dagmar tried to understand what had just happened. She was coming upstairs. She’d fallen asleep? Was she sick?

Dagmar had to be, to toss like that. She groaned and wiped her mouth, chilled and shaking. Dagmar didn’t remember crawling into bed, especially not on Draco’s side or without having changed out of her Healer uniform. Dagmar rested her cheek on the bed and closed her eyes. The room felt like it was spinning.

Too much excitement, maybe. Dagmar had a lot of emotional ups and downs lately, and she was definitely getting stressed about exams as they loomed less than three weeks away. Classwork hadn’t slowed, either—to the contrary.

Dagmar listlessly dug her wand out of her pocket and cleaned up the mess on the floor. She still felt gross about it, so pulled all the bedding off in order to change it. Dagmar undressed in the closet on her way to fetch new sheets and a duvet cover. She stopped and stared at the clock in the bathroom when she saw it was past eight o’clock.

She’d been asleep that long? Dagmar didn’t feel like it at all. She was exhausted as she fixed the bed. She had a shower afterward to warm up and rinse off the cold sweat that coated her. Heimdall meowed to be let in as Dagmar tested eating dinner downstairs. That it seemed to sit all right with her confirmed she didn’t have any kind of contagious illness. She headed back upstairs after finishing eating and cleaning up, and crawled into bed. Dagmar fell right back asleep until she jerked awake.

Draco had the blanket in his hand, one knee on the bed in the process of crawling in.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Sighing as she relaxed, Dagmar resettled. “It’s okay. I’ve been in bed since nine or so. I wasn’t feeling well. What time is it?”

“Little past three.” Draco gravitated closer under the covers and rubbed Dagmar’s hip. “Are you sick?”

“Don’t think so.” Dagmar kissed him properly hello. “Just conked out as soon as I got home. Tossed when I woke up around eight.”

“Was it that bad, watching a baby be born?”

Dagmar chuckled weakly, hand rested on Draco’s shoulder. “Nei, not bad, but very emotional. I wonder if maybe all the stress I’ve been under lately caught up to me.”

“Maybe.” Draco kissed her forehead. “Well, weekend’s coming. We could do something relaxing.”

“I’d like that,” Dagmar said. “Might need it.”


	34. Friday the Thirteenth

After he’d acquired so much information from Hildegard, Harry looked forward to moving ahead on everything else. The problem was that nothing Hildegard gave Harry really did that for him. It was a lot of detail about her life and her motivations, but nothing enlightening about where to possibly find Magnus. Harry went back to Azkaban again to follow up on some unknowns that piqued his interest.

He brought a map of western Europe with him, along with another bar of chocolate for Hildegard. While she chewed away on it, Harry showed her the map. It was one he and Parasca had labelled with Voldemort’s parameters for finding Magnus.

“We were told you had him narrowed down to somewhere between Zurich and Barcelona,” Harry said. “How do you do that? How can you literally comb all of Europe—the world, really—and expect to find someone that doesn’t want to be found?”

“I found hints of him before Voldemort returned,” Hildegard replied. “An innkeeper in Paris recognized him. Said Magnus came through there a couple months after he’d left Fantomøy. I figured it meant Magnus was avoiding the floo network. He wouldn’t have been able to apparate because he wasn’t very well travelled outside of Norway.”

“Why would he avoid the floo network?” Harry asked.

“If I went to the Ministry and said he killed my son, they would’ve tracked him down pretty easily, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe.” Harry wasn’t sure, but the possibility was clearly enough to keep Magnus off the radar.

“Travelling like a Muggle, especially with no resources, is hard,” Hildegard said. “Ja, I went out on a limb assuming he’d stay close. Since he’d been in Paris at one point, we just searched outward from there.”

“So why Zurich and Barcelona?”

“We were just looking everywhere.” Hildegard shrugged. “I figured if he was in Paris, that meant he’d learned enough French to get by. Maybe not Paris, but somewhere in France might be where he calls home. We didn’t want to limit right at the French border, so we picked just two arbitrary cities to set.”

Harry was confused. “There’s no strategy to that really at all, though.”

“Got a better idea how to handle a manhunt?” Hildegard asked. “I notice you haven’t reeled him in yet, despite having Ministry resources probably all over Europe.”

She wasn’t wrong. Really, Harry was doing much the same thing by asking the Head Aurors in France, Spain, Switzerland, and Italy to keep him posted of anything they might see. All of Harry’s bites came up empty. If Magnus lived off the land somewhere in rural France, how else would Harry ever find him other than literally stumbling across wherever he called home?

From there, Harry suggested to Parasca that they focus on finding a way to reach out to Magnus through newspapers. Harry didn’t want to do it blatantly, since it might similarly draw attention to Magnus from Voldemort.

“It’s such a tough call,” Parasca said as they discussed it on a Friday morning. “It might be our only means, but we really don’t want to spook him. For all we know, he doesn’t know that the Ministry or anyone else aligned with Dumbledore is looking for him. If he thinks he’s going to be brought to justice about Bjorn, he might double-down and go even further into hiding.”

“Yeah,” Harry glumly replied, “but are we going to find him anyway?”

They at least weren’t on a time crunch to figure it out, so Harry and Parasca were free to debate it at their leisure. They’d come up with a couple different ways to word an ad (or how to potentially embed a secret message into a fake article), so that killed some time in the office.

What Harry didn’t expect as he came out of the break room with a fresh cup of tea was to see a visitor at his and Parasca’s cubicle. Parasca was standing, her expression serious and on the verge of grim. She was talking to Elodie Marigot. Harry slopped a little tea on his fingers in his haste to cross the office.

“Hey,” he greeted Marigot. “What’re you doing here?”

“Figured it’d be quicker to come myself, rather than send an owl,” Marigot replied. “I think I’ve got him.”

“Magnus?” Harry asked for confirmation, his heart pounding.

Marigot nodded. “If it’s him, he’s dead.”

Harry deflated. The weight of such acute disappointment hardly allowed him to hold his tea at all. He set it on his desk. “Where did you find him?”

“Down in the Catacombs.”

“How’d he wind up there?”

“Lived there, probably.” Marigot shrugged. “Did you want to see if you can identify him? I’d hate to bring you news like this and be wrong.”

Harry glanced at Parasca. “His sister Marit might know better than us.”

“Let’s look first,” Parasca grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. “I don’t want to drag Marit all the way from Trondheim to Paris for nothing.”

Harry put his jacket on as well. Thinking quickly, he pulled out the messenger he shared with Pansy to let her know he had no idea when he’d be done work tonight. The day was young yet—and maybe the weekend premature—on a break this big.

The three of them headed for the lifts, and then from there the floo departures. Rather than go to the Ministry when they reached Paris, Marigot took Harry and Parasca to the hospital. They headed down to the bottom floor. Harry’s heart started to pound again when the person in charge of the morgue requested all of their identification. The mortician led them into the back room. On one of the slabs was a body covered by a white sheet.

The mortician left them alone. Marigot lifted the top of the sheet and pulled it back to lay on the body’s chest.

There were abrasions on the man’s nose, cheeks, forehead, and chin. His skin otherwise was purplish, rather than the pale Harry expected. What got Harry’s attention most was an ugly scar on the left shoulder. It looked like the man had a chunk taken off him some time ago. It healed unevenly. There were long, gnarly scars leading down under the sheet. They seemed to originate in the centre of his chest and then scrape down along toward his armpits.

Parasca reached into her jacket pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. It was a copy of Magnus Norheim’s Kapsferd portrait. Parasca studied the picture, then looked at the body. Harry looked over her shoulder and did the same thing. Magnus had some moles on his face in the picture, and there were moles in the same place on this body. His eyes were the same colour, even if they’d glazed over in death. His nose was the same shape. Even his eyebrows grew the same way, even if later on in life they’d gotten a little wispy and had the occasional grey break in them.

“I think it’s him,” Harry said.

Parasca nodded. “Me too.”

“Damn,” Marigot whispered.

Harry looked over at her. “Did he have anything on him?”

“Clothes and such,” Marigot replied. “Few things in his pockets, but nothing that stuck out. Where he was found is being investigated as a crime scene since the matter of his discovery was strange.”

“How was that?”

Marigot draped the sheet back over Magnus. “He was frozen. That’s how he got all those abrasions. I don’t have to look at an autopsy report to tell you that didn’t happen naturally. The Catacombs stay cool year round, but not _that_ cold. Fifteen degrees, or so.”

“Was it murder, then?” Harry asked.

“Not sure.” Marigot went over to a covered box on one of the counters. “Here’s what Magnus was found with on his person.”

Harry hoped to see a locket amongst the possessions, but of course it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing would be thrown away, just in case. Even then, Harry had no idea what significance some bezants, tissue, and a pair of gloves would have.

“No identification,” Harry noted. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“Even if he wasn’t a vagrant, it’s just not a common thing to pack around.” Marigot folded her arms. “Do you pack _yours?_ ”

“Just my Auror stuff,” Harry answered. “Could we see where he was found?”

“Sure.”

Harry couldn’t say he was looking forward to going into the Paris Catacombs, but he wanted to see where it had all happened. Who had killed Magnus? Was it a random attack, or had Voldemort gotten here first?

That thought concerned Harry. He, Parasca, and Marigot left the hospital for the French Ministry. Harry brought them to a stop at the lifts. “Er, any chance Voldemort is in the Catacombs? Or have they been searched?”

“Our office has been combing through,” Marigot answered. “We’ve spoken to a lot of the wizards and witches that live down there, and no one says they saw anyone like Voldemort. This happened in quite a secluded location, but I find it hard to believe Voldemort could’ve gotten in without being spotted. Getting out, sure. He could’ve just disapparated.”

Harry nodded. “Right.”

They got into the lifts and headed for the lowest floor. It reminded Harry of the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. They headed down an unmarked hallway. The stone floors became uneven, and the walls lost their decorative value. They came up to a blank wall, which Marigot walked straight through. Deeming it to have a similar illusion spell to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry followed.

The other side of the wall was dimly lit with torches. The room was big enough to need stone columns to hold it up. There were people here, a mix of law enforcement and what looked like the vagrant population.

Marigot spoke to a couple Aurors in French before introductions were made. The man and woman nodded grimly at Harry. Perhaps they were aware of how important this had been to him—or to the British Ministry as a whole. It was starting to dawn on Harry that unless they found Slytherin’s locket somewhere down here amongst the rest of Magnus’ things, it could mean that Voldemort had his phylactery back. Was there a way for him to repair his body from it?

“When we get back to Britain, we need to talk to Kingsley,” Harry told Parasca as Marigot led them into one of the low, dusty tunnels. “He has a straight shot of communication with Dumbledore. Dumbledore will need to know all this.”

“Right.” Parasca nodded.

“I wonder how quickly Voldemort will move if he’s got his phylactery back.”

Harry grew nervous, something he hadn’t much felt for a long time when it came to Voldemort. He’d never dealt with a complete Voldemort, for lack of a better term. The stories of how Voldemort had terrorized Britain in the seventies well overshadowed what he’d done since his return. He’d been forced into a position of subterfuge, with his followers similarly acting in secret. Even with Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange in Azkaban, there was a long list of names with potential to become active again. This failure to reach the Catacombs first could have massive consequences. Harry’s focus in France was more to the south. He thought Voldemort’s was too.

A horrible feeling rose from Harry’s stomach to encase his heart. This was all on him for not figuring it out. He’d been so distracted by what he might possibly get out of Hildegard that he’d lost focus. Hildegard didn’t know anything about where the phylactery was, otherwise she would’ve told Harry. Well, maybe. Or maybe she had a feeling Voldemort was closing in and that Harry, as a novice Auror, was easily moved off-path.

Hildegard mentioned Paris, though. That was their starting point in trying to find Magnus. He’d been here the whole time, just underneath their feet. Would Hildegard or even Voldemort have known to check the Catacombs? Without somebody to show them the way around, the task might have been nearly impossible.

That was the impression Harry got anyway, from all the twists and turns Marigot took Harry and Parasca through. The silence other than their footsteps was crushing at times. Harry’s disquiet swelled whenever light appeared from ahead. Other Aurors and residents passed them by in the tight corridors, their faces cast in shadow as they stared at Harry. Could any of them be Death Eaters in disguise, waiting for him to show up? In corridors this tight, where would Harry even go? How would he protect himself?

These weren’t usually thoughts that occurred to Harry. He shouldn’t worry. If Voldemort and the Death Eaters killed Magnus, that meant they were done looking for him. There was no point lingering. They were all probably at whatever lair Voldemort had made for himself, planning their next move. Whether Hogwarts or the Ministry, it was going to be a big one. Voldemort would prefer to reintroduce himself to the wizarding world in a grand way, especially if his plans for domination remained in place.

Marigot turned them into a well-lit room. “This is it.”

The room was about the same size as the first one they’d come into, with more stone columns holding the ceiling up. There were items casually strewn about that the magical enforcement officers were being careful with. One took pictures of each item. Harry lingered at the room’s entrance with Parasca while Marigot talked in French again to someone else overseeing everything.

She came back over. “They’re just about done preserving the crime scene. Give them a little longer, and we’ll be able to start looking everything over.”

“Where was the body found?” Harry asked.

Parasca pointed at the corner to the left of where they’d first come in. “There. You can’t see the frost anymore from the ice since it melted once we lifted the spell, but it’s still slightly damp.”

“Has the area been preserved for the investigation?”

“Oui, go ahead and look, if you want.”

Harry headed over there with his wand lit again. He squatted down closer, Parasca doing the same beside him. With both of their wands, the shadows played less on the floor.

“No drag marks,” Harry commented. “Must mean they levitated the body when they removed it?”

“Probably,” Parasca said. “It doesn’t look like there was any here at all. Either he wasn’t scurrying around a lot before he died, or it was cleaned up. Clearly a magical assailant, if that’s the case. Looks just like he was sitting up.”

She pointed out an imprint in the dust. It looked like where Magnus’ bum would’ve been, and then his feet right in front of it.

“Had his knees pulled up,” Harry guessed. “I doubt that’s a comfortable way to sleep? He might’ve been awake when he died. If he was, maybe he was talking to somebody.”

Harry stood back up and headed over to Marigot. “Any idea on time of death?”

“Magnus was last seen alive by one of the residents on Wednesday morning. Body was discovered yesterday evening. The mortician is working on getting us a more specific time.”

“Were there footprints in the room when the investigation started?” Harry asked. “It might not matter if magic was involved, but maybe whoever murdered him missed covering something up.”

Marigot shrugged slightly, her arms folded. “It’s still rather early. Magical enforcement has been dealing with it since the body was found. Ever since you and I spoke in July, I’ve been taking a look at all the bodies that pass through St. Genevieve. My office is only just getting involved.”

“Right.” Harry nodded. “Sorry, I don’t mean to come off as impatient, or to imply you’re not doing all you can.”

Marigot’s thin lips pulled back into a small smile. “Stick around, if you like. I can recommend lodging.”

“Might just do that,” Harry said. “I definitely have some stuff that needs to be tended to back in London first. There’s family to inform too.”

“Of course.” Marigot’s expression returned to seriousness. “If there are—or even just were—Death Eaters in my backyard, I want to know. Magnus’ life was worth more than to be left down in the Catacombs to rot.”

“Before we go,” Harry glanced at Parasca when she joined his side, then looked back at Marigot, “what’re your thoughts on there maybe having been a witness?”

“Hm.” Marigot pursed her lips in thought. “Oui, it seems out of place that Voldemort or whoever came on his behalf froze Magnus. It’s more likely he wouldn’t have wanted anyone on your side of things to know that Magnus is dead. They would prefer he decompose normally.”

“We don’t really know if Voldemort knows we were looking for Magnus,” Harry said.

“Did you ever figure out what Magnus had stolen from Voldemort?”

Harry nodded. “A locket. I don’t suppose you found one?”

“I don’t think so.” Marigot pressed her lips and scanned the room. “If it’s just underneath something else here, I’ll put it aside for when you get back.”

“Mind leading us out of here?” Harry asked.

They headed back down the way they came. None of it looked familiar to Harry, which made him glad he didn’t try to find his own way. That he was being so proactive without checking in first with Parasca made him stop and think.

“This is okay, right?” Harry said to her under his breath as they followed Marigot at a slight distance. “I’m not really sure where to start, and we have no idea how quickly things might move at home.”

“Nu, you’re doing good,” she encouraged him with a smile. “I’ll step in if something’s amiss. Good call on letting the French Ministry handle the scene. Even if it’s potentially an international crime committed by British criminals against a Norwegian national, it’s French jurisdiction. We did our due diligence in involving Marigot early on. We might have missed this entirely if we hadn’t.”

“Will it have mattered if it’s too late?” Harry couldn’t hide his disappointment in himself.

“You can’t dwell on that,” Parasca told him. “We did all that we could. Da, perhaps it’s too late for Magnus. That’s unfortunate, it really is. But in moving forward and making sure it doesn’t happen to anybody else, we just have to put those feelings on the back burner and concentrate. What all do you think we ought to do when we return to London?”

“Kingsley needs to be informed first, since there might be spurts of dark wizard activity in Britain,” Harry said. “He’ll let Dumbledore know, and Dumbledore will inform the rest of the Order to be on high alert. Or—whatever he thinks is best, anyway. That’s his call to make.”

Parasca nodded. “Never be afraid to delegate, Harry. You have great wizards at your disposal.”

“Right.” Harry felt some of the weight come off his shoulders regarding the situation. “Erm. . .so that takes care of preparations starting. What about the general public?”

“Kingsley will likely consult with magical enforcement about it,” Parasca said. “Were it me in his position still, I’d be placing watches and guards in higher-risk places like Diagon Alley and the Ministry.”

Harry nodded. “Then I guess that just leaves informing the family?”

“Da.” Parasca sighed. “We ought to head up to Trondheim after we’re done in London. If Marit and Ødger are interested, we could escort them to Paris to see Magnus. They’ll have to arrange with the mortician what to do with his remains. It’ll be up to the lead investigator back in Paris when Magnus’ body is released. It takes longer when there are suspicious circumstances.”

“Right.” Although Harry was relieved to have his responsibilities in the situation whittled down, dread reemerged at the prospect of breaking this news to Marit. “Er. . .how exactly do you tell someone that their brother died?”

“You can leave it to me,” Parasca told him. “I’ve done it enough times, you might as well have an example for the next time you have to do it. It’s not something you want to botch.”

Even with that taken off Harry’s shoulders, he was still nervous. He wished he could’ve done more. If he had, maybe he and Parasca wouldn’t have to tell Marit at all that Magnus was dead.

Harry tried to push his guilt away by using Occlumency to quiet his mind. There was no going back, only learning and applying it to the future. Bad things happened. That was just life. If every little thing could be prevented, there would be a lot less trouble in the world.

From the French Ministry’s basement, Harry and Parasca could find their way back to the Atrium. They returned to London and headed straight for the Auror office. Harry had barely taken three steps inside when he heard his name called from the back.

Kingsley waved him and Parasca over. When they entered the office, Kingsley closed the door. “Elodie was here?”

Harry nodded. “Magnus is dead.”

Kingsley exhaled as he folded his arms. “The locket?”

“Wasn’t on him, and we can’t search his stuff yet because they’re still preserving the scene,” Harry said. “I think we’re going back to Paris, but we have some stuff to do here first. We wanted to inform you what’s going on. Dumbledore should probably know. We need to go up to Trondheim so that we can tell Marit. She might want to go to St. Genevieve to see Magnus. We’ll escort her there.”

Kingsley went around his desk and pulled a messenger out of the one drawer. “I’ll let Dumbledore know right away. I have a feeling he’ll want a meeting tonight to be filled in in-person. Could you make seven o’clock work? I’ll give that time to Dumbledore as well.”

“Yeah.” Harry glanced at his watch. It was just past three-thirty. “We’d better get a move-on, then. I have no idea how long this will take with Marit.”

“She deserves as much time as you can give her.” Kingsley nodded. “Go on.”

As Harry passed his and Parasca’s cubicle, he gave his messenger a thought. He would’ve liked to see if Pansy had replied. Harry wondered when magical enforcement would be dispatched to Diagon Alley. Pansy would only be there for another couple of hours today. What would happen once Pansy went home?

“Hold on a moment,” Harry said to Parasca as they reached the office door. “I just need to very quickly do something.”

Harry brought out the messenger he shared with Pansy: W _e need to talk about something when I’m done today (not about us). I might not be home until 8, maybe 9_

With that, Harry was ready to leave the country again. The Grand Floo Junction grew more congested as the afternoon progressed. Harry was starting to feel tired from all the travel by the time they emerged in Trondheim. Then, they needed to start the process of actually finding Marit and Ødger.

They’d been seen a few days ago in the wizarding village, but were back on the water. The sun had already set. Even if Harry and Parasca borrowed the brooms offered by the main inn’s proprietor, how would they ever comb the entirety of Trondheimsfjord in search for Marit and Ødger?

Harry resigned to borrow an owl. He hated to do this so impersonally:

_Marit,_

_Kat and I came by Trondheim this evening (currently 5pm on the 13th), but looks like it’s too late/too dark to find you out on the fjord. We may have found Magnus. If we did, he’s passed away and the circumstances are currently under investigation. If you have any questions, you’ll be able to find us in Paris tomorrow. That’s where who we believe to be Magnus was found. If you go tonight, he’s at the morgue at St. Genevieve Hospital. Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you’d be more interested in knowing as soon as possible._

_Harry Potter_

“Think we ought to warn Marigot that Marit might show up?” Harry asked.

“I can,” Parasca said. “I’ll pack up and leave for Paris tonight.”

“Oh.” Harry unrolled his note again. “Should I say that to Marit, then? You’ll be in Paris and could meet her?”

“Da, say I’ll be at Le Pégase Noir.”

“Er. . .” Harry recognized it as the inn Marigot had mentioned. “How do you spell that?”

With that settled, Harry sent off the owl. He folded his arms as he turned to Parasca.

“I guess we might as well go,” Harry said. “It might take Marit and Ødger hours to get back here, let alone to Paris.”

Parasca nodded. “You have business in London, me in Paris now. You’re coming tomorrow?”

“I should,” Harry said. “I’ll meet Dumbledore tonight. I need to make some arrangements at home before I leave the country for who knows how long. We could meet up at the Ministry there in the morning, or something?”

“Sure. For now let’s just get back to London. I still need to pack my things.”

Harry was getting ahead of himself again. As he and Parasca headed through the international floo networks, he took a step back from everything to clear his head. There was nothing for him to do tonight about Marit, Magnus, and Paris as a whole. He would worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, he would inform those in London who needed to know what was going on.

He bid Parasca goodbye until the morning. It wasn’t five yet in their time zone, which meant Pansy, Ron, and Hermione would all be at work still. Harry apparated first to the Ministry so that he could catch Hermione. She looked quite surprised to see him, since their paths didn’t normally cross other than during lunch.

Hermione gave a firm nod when Harry told her to meet him at Grimmauld Place at eight o’clock. Harry headed then for Diagon Alley, walking past Madam Malkin’s for now to catch Ron at the joke shop. Coming up on the end of the business day, Ron dealt with a line of young kids below Hogwarts age at the till. The dead look in his eyes brightened when he spotted Harry. It turned serious when he took in Harry’s demeanour.

Ron waved Harry up behind the front counter. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see if you could make yourself available for eight,” Harry told him in a low tone as Ron kept on helping the next customer. “Hermione’s coming by Grimmauld Place then. We all need to talk about something that happened today.”

Ron nodded. “I’ll be there. Er, should I be worried?”

“I don’t want to spook anyone, but I’m not really sure what’s going to happen because of it,” Harry said. “Personally, until Dumbledore has a chance to weigh in, I wouldn’t be out and about too much.”

“I’ll head straight home then.”

“Don’t say anything or spread that around,” Harry replied. “I don’t want people to panic over what could be nothing.”

“Right.”

Harry left with that, returning Fred and George’s wave on his way out of the shop. He backtracked to Madam Malkin’s, which was similarly busy in the front. Harry caught Madam Malkin’s eye to greet her like the Weasley twins from a distance before carrying on into the back.

Pansy was sitting at her usual workstation, but had shifted it since the day before so that it faced the back entrance. She eyed Harry in a way that made him stop only a few steps into the room. He furrowed his brow when Pansy reached for her wand. It sat on the table.

“What’s my favourite flavour of ice cream?” Pansy asked.

“Er, bubblegum,” Harry answered, then caught on. “Mine?”

“Chocolate and raspberry swirl.”

Sighing with relief, Pansy tucked her wand into her robes on her way over to Harry. “I thought you were going to be later?”

“Same.” Harry squeezed her. “I still have somewhere to be at seven, but something else I had to do couldn’t get done so. . .here I am.”

“I’m glad to see you.” Pansy leaned up for a brief kiss. “I was going to just stay late after your first message, but Madam Malkin understood that I should probably leave on time given your second one. It’s about _him_ , isn’t it?”

Harry glanced behind him to make sure they were still alone before nodding. “We won’t talk about it here, though. Once you’re off we could grab dinner and head to your place?”

“Yep.” Pansy relinquished him. “I’ll just finish up this one thing I’m working on. I feel a lot better now that you’re here.”

“Me too.” Harry sighed. “I’m glad you were prepared in case someone came in impersonating me. Makes me think I don’t have to worry so much about you.”

“I told you that you don’t.” Pansy cast him a playfully disparaging look. “We should probably come up with code words if things are getting serious.”

“We can talk about that later, as well.”

Pansy nodded and went back to work. There was only about fifteen minutes until the end of her day, and she probably looked at the clock twice as many times in that span. Madam Malkin poked her head in as well to make sure that everything was okay, and then again at five.

“If you want to go ahead dear, I’ll finish the day,” she told Pansy.

“Okay.”

Pansy wasted no time getting her jacket. She looked idly about them as they headed down Diagon Alley toward the restaurants, although nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Harry. Still, that was the thing about terrorism. Attacks happened unexpectedly. Harry wished there was food at Pansy’s flat so that they didn’t even have to bother being in Diagon Alley longer than was necessary. It was with great relief that they made it to the apparation points without any kind of incident. Pansy’s flat was undisturbed too.

Pansy set her takeaway on the table. “So what’s going on?”

“For you to understand, I’ll have to tell you a little bit of work stuff,” Harry said as he slipped his jacket off. “Back before Voldemort tried to off me, someone built him a phylactery. You remember what that is from Defence class, right?”

“The thing someone puts their soul into,” Pansy answered. “So he’s a lich, then.”

“Yes. Thing is, the phylactery was stolen a few years later. The person that stole it went into hiding. Voldemort’s been looking for it, and so have Parasca and I. The person that stole it turned up dead today. No phylactery yet that we can see.”

“So. . .what does that mean, then?” Pansy’s eyes widened a little with her uncertainty. “He’ll be back again like he was before?”

“I don’t know for sure what’s going to happen.” Harry joined her where she stood at the edge of the kitchen. “This person was only killed within the last few days. The French Ministry is still in the middle of preserving the crime scene, so I can’t go digging through the person’s things quite yet to see if what he stole is still there. I’ll be going back there tomorrow, er, just so you know. I’ll have to drop by the Auror office to grab my messenger.”

“Aw, you can’t come back in the evenings?” Pansy asked, then waved a hand. “No, if you have to be there, that’s just what it is.”

“I know, it sucks,” Harry agreed. “What I wanted to talk to you about is what you might do while I’m gone.”

Pansy studied Harry, slightly braced. “We’re not having that conversation again like after my father was bothering you at work, are we?”

“No,” Harry said. “Obviously I can’t tell you what to do, but I was wondering what you might think about staying at Grimmauld Place for a while. It’s under a Fidelius Charm that Dumbledore cast, and you wouldn’t be alone. Ron would be around. Er—if you’re okay with that. I know you and him aren’t anywhere near as close as you and me.”

“Certainly not.” Pansy giggled before returning to her previous seriousness. “I don’t mind doing that if you think it’s best. I’d rather not be alone here. Have you talked to Ron about it?”

“Not yet. I’m going to tonight,” Harry replied. “I told him and Hermione to meet at Grimmauld Place at eight. I have to meet with Kingsley and Dumbledore at seven. Maybe after we eat, you could get some things and we could just head back to London? Dumbledore will have to reveal Grimmauld Place to you, so we could see if we can catch him before seven.”

“Okay.” Pansy pulled on Harry’s hand, a gesture to follow, as she headed to her bedroom. In there, she started to undress. “Are you at least going to be here tonight? I’d feel a little weird sleeping at your house alone right off the bat, is all.”

“Yeah, I’m not leaving until tomorrow.” Harry leaned back against the dresser, hands in his pockets. “Parasca and I are meeting at the French Ministry at nine our time.”

“I’ll be gone to work by then, I guess.” Pansy put her work robes on the bed before going to the closet for something else to wear. Harry’s gaze fell to her bum. “You said you were going to grab your messenger?”

“Mhm. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to write, but I will when I can,” Harry said. “Parasca mentioned talking to Kingsley about placing magical enforcement officers in places like Diagon Alley, so hopefully that’ll put your mind at ease when you’re trying to work.”

“It will.” Pansy pulled a tee shirt on and returned to the dresser for some leggings. Harry had to move out of the way. “I think I’ll be okay and all that. It’s the uncertainty that’s unnerving, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry easily agreed.

“You should change before you eat.” Pansy brushed at the lapel of Harry’s suit jacket. “You’re filthy. Where were you, the Catacombs?”

“Er, yeah, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry, that joke didn’t quite land then, did it?”

Regardless, Harry appreciated some sort of chance toward a laugh today, however weak. He kept his eye on his watch while they ate. There were a lot of thumps in the building around them—normal for a Friday night, especially so close to the college—but Harry was on high alert.

“Just so you know,” Harry said as the thought occurred to him, “we’re going to have to meet Dumbledore at Order headquarters. Are you comfortable going to Malfoy Manor?”

“I’m okay with that.” Pansy looked over, brow slightly wrinkled. “Malfoy Manor’s your headquarters?”

“Malfoy let us use it,” Harry confirmed. “Him and Dagmar joined back at Easter.”

“Hm.”

“Weird?”

“No.” Pansy pushed her fork through her mash. “I’ve just been thinking about something for a little while. After the second message you sent, I started feeling more serious about it. I didn’t really like not knowing what’s going on. I feel like if I did, getting a message like that wouldn’t be as unnerving. What would you think about me joining the Order?”

Harry’s immediate reaction was no. He didn’t want Pansy involved in all this. Then again, she already was. Harry studied her with pressed lips while she looked equally doubtful of what he would say.

“It’s not really my call,” Harry said. “The Order is Dumbledore’s group, not mine.”

“So what would you think if I asked him?” Pansy replied. “I see a lot of people through Madam Malkin’s shop. A lot of them like to chat. Maybe if I knew what was going on, I’d know if I picked up something relevant.”

“Maybe.”

“Or I can just keep a general eye on Diagon Alley, even if there’ll be magical enforcement there,” she offered. “That’s kind of what Ron does, isn’t it? Who else works in Diagon Alley that’s in the Order?”

“Mm. . .the twins, but that’s about it.”

Pansy straightened in her seat. “Maybe I could be helpful, then.”

“You don’t have to be,” Harry said. “We have allies that aren’t active members. I’d rather you didn’t go out of your way to do Order business. It might draw attention. I’m still worried that if you know anything crucial, you might be a target for Death Eaters.”

“I’m _already_ a target, if that’s the case.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “The Death Eaters aren’t going to come after me because I know things about their business. They’re going to come after me because I know _yours_. I know where you sleep at night. I know your schedules. I know where you’re going to be tomorrow. I have a messenger that puts me in direct contact with you. It’s already high-risk. I’m only asking to be involved so that I can see danger for myself. If you don’t want me to be at risk, then I need to know what’s going on. You want to protect me badly enough you’ll put me up at your house under a Fidelius Charm cast by Dumbledore, but you won’t let me know who or what might come for me. How does that make sense?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. “I guess it doesn’t.”

“Well?”

“You’re sure?”

Pansy nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“I’ll leave it up to you and Dumbledore.” Harry shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about your opinion.”

“I don’t know.” Harry held his jaw, leaned on the table. “I’m just nervous right now because I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, or to anybody, really. I thought since Voldemort had no luck finding Magnus for so long that I had time. He got luckier than me, for once.”

“Magnus, huh?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Pansy, who smiled at his slip of the name.

“I’ll talk to Dumbledore, then,” Pansy said.

Another realization dawned on Harry. “We’ll have to find Hermione first. She’s the Secret Keeper for Malfoy Manor.”

“Interesting choice,” Pansy commented. “Kind of poetic.”

Harry snorted. “Sure.”

Although still unsure about the whole thing, Harry had to concede that Pansy had a point about what truly put her at risk from Voldemort. Voldemort probably couldn’t care less that Pansy know he had a phylactery, who had constructed it, and who had then stolen it. Harry thought it all over as, while Pansy packed a couple bags, he apparated quickly to Hermione’s flat. She and Viktor were in the middle of dinner, and Harry took it far from personally that both pointed their wands at him as he rounded into the kitchen from the living room.

Hermione pocketed her wand when she was satisfied Harry was really him. “I thought we were meeting at Grimmauld Place later?”

“Still are,” Harry confirmed. “I just need a very quick favour. Pansy’s going to be staying at Grimmauld Place while things are hot, so she needs to go to Malfoy Manor and see Dumbledore.”

“Right.” Hermione mindlessly squeezed Viktor’s shoulder as she passed him by. “Would a note work?”

“Has for me.” Harry followed Hermione to the desk she’d set up in her living room.

Hermione tore off a small piece of scrap parchment. “Have you talked to Ron about Pansy staying there?”

“Later.” Harry folded his arms. “I don’t think he’ll mind. It’s not like I’m moving her in just because, or like it’s permanent.”

“True enough.” Hermione grinned cheekily. “It’s also not as if Ron couldn’t find somewhere else to crawl in at night if he didn’t like it.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t think they get along that bad.”

“It should be fine.”

Hermione tucked some of her hair behind her ear while she finished her note. As the day came up on the evening, the potion she used to keep it tame was wearing off. The curls were starting to frizz. Hermione tapped the note with her wand, folded it, and held it out to Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “See you at eight.”

“Yep.”

Harry apparated back to Pansy’s. She was still in her room packing, eyeing him slightly as he came in.

“Still chocolate and raspberry,” he said.

Pansy chuckled. “And bubblegum for me.”

Harry handed her the note. “Just be aware it’s going to self-destruct once you’ve read it.”

“Okay.”

Pansy had a smile on her face as her gaze flitted over Hermione’s loopy handwriting stating that _The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is located at Malfoy Manor_. As expected, one of the note’s corners turned black as if on fire. It crept closer to Pansy’s fingers. Even if it wasn’t hot, she let it go. The last piece of the parchment disappeared before it could flutter to the floor.

“I think I’m ready to go,” Pansy said a few minutes later as she zipped her toiletry bag.

Harry shouldered the one Pansy had all of her clothes in and apparated them to the Ministry. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to access Malfoy Manor through. Even though it was a hassle to get Pansy to Grimmauld Place, Harry appreciated it. It made him feel better that if it was this much work for Pansy to get there, it would mean a whole lot more for somebody that didn’t have similar ports of access.

He went first, stepping out into the dimly lit great room of Malfoy Manor. Harry was made curious by the low murmur of multiple voices coming from the drawing room while he waited for Pansy. She stepped out of the fireplace next, looking around.

A shiver went down her spine, pulling her shoulders up stiff. “It feels so much different from the last time I was here.”

“It’s empty most of the time, I think.” Harry touched her lower back. “Come on.”

Harry stilted at the doorway for the drawing room. He expected to find Dumbledore, yes, but perhaps Kingsley as well. Rather than Kingsley, Professor McGonagall and Snape sat at the table. The three of them considered Harry and Pansy. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, but Harry had a feeling he saw the hairline smile she tried to hide reach her eyes anyway.

“Er, hi,” Harry greeted them all. He hadn’t seen Snape and McGonagall since the meeting on his birthday. “A word, Professor?”

Dumbledore excused himself from the table. Pansy waved shortly at McGonagall and Snape as her own greeting before she left the drawing room with Harry and Dumbledore. Dumbledore rested the drawing room door against the frame outside.

“I was wondering if you could reveal Grimmauld Place to Pansy,” Harry asked Dumbledore, glad that the dim hallway didn’t show the heat in his cheeks. “She’s going to stay there for a little while.”

“Of course.” Dumbledore’s eyes still twinkled as he looked at Pansy. “Harry’s residence is located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

“Thank you,” Pansy said, then glanced at Harry. “Erm, I was wondering about joining?”

“I don’t see why not,” Dumbledore replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner given your involvement with Harry.”

Harry kept his gaze steadfast on Dumbledore, although saw Pansy look at him out the corner of his eye.

“Given recent events, I unfortunately don’t have time to discuss it more deeply with you.” Dumbledore folded his hands together in front of him. “I’m sure Harry will fill you in.”

Pansy touched Harry’s wrist, her smile smug and tone saccharine. “I’m sure he will.”


	35. World of Glass

Dagmar’s Saturday went much differently than expected, thanks to a message from Potter on behalf of Dumbledore to meet. It’d been months since Dagmar and Draco last visited Malfoy Manor. Although it retained its grandeur, it didn’t feel anything remotely like home to Dagmar. Even Draco seemed in a strange mood as they headed from the great room’s fireplace to the drawing room. The door was open, torch light spilling out from inside. Dumbledore was alone.

“Hello,” he solemnly greeted them. “Come sit.”

Draco closed the door behind them and followed Dagmar to the seat she chose across from Professor Dumbledore. Dagmar played with her hands in her lap, nervous. She was used to corresponding with Potter. To meet at Order Headquarters with Professor Dumbledore spelled big news.

“Magnus Norheim is dead,” Professor Dumbledore said. “He was discovered Thursday night in the Paris Catacombs.”

Dagmar’s stomach sunk toward her pelvis. “Oh.”

“Harry informs me you’re aware that Voldemort was seeking his phylactery, which Magnus had stolen from your mother.” Dumbledore nodded slightly at Dagmar. “While looking through Magnus’ things, we didn’t find it. There was no locket at all.”

“So. . .” Dagmar tucked some hair behind her ear. “You think Voldemort found Magnus and got his phylactery back?”

“If Magnus still had it, that’s one possibility,” Dumbledore replied. “In Harry’s opinion, your mother seemed adamant that Magnus wouldn’t have destroyed the phylactery. If not, another possibility is that Magnus lost it. I don’t think Voldemort would’ve killed Magnus for hiding it unless Magnus told him where it was.”

Draco furrowed his brow. “What if the phylactery was hidden in the Catacombs, and You-Know-Who killed Magnus once he showed him where it was?”

“Possible, but Magnus has lived in the Catacombs for some time. He was well-known to the vagrant wizarding population that calls them home—by a different name, of course.”

“What now, then?” Draco asked with a hint of hesitation.

“We’re expecting to start seeing Death Eater activity again shortly, if Voldemort has indeed retained his phylactery. I admit I’m not sure what he’ll do with it,” Dumbledore said. “It may just be that he feels more confident in his immortality, knowing that the other half of his soul is intact. Thanks to Hildegard, we know quite a lot about the psychology of the situation. I don’t believe that you two are in danger, or that anyone could even know you’re in Bergen. I just want you two to be aware, you especially Dagmar, since you work in a public setting at the hospital. I would also strongly recommend you consider hiding your home underneath a Fidelius Charm.”

Dagmar pressed her lips. “I’m not sure it’s fitting for our situation. Given how high-ranking my mum and Mr. Malfoy are in the Death Eaters, I don’t feel in any real danger. I’d also rather Voldemort came straight to us if he had reason to, rather than try to find us through our acquaintances or workplaces. We should probably talk again about Draco and I just going along.”

Dumbledore’s beard shifted slightly with his grimace. He rubbed his hands together.

“What’re the chances anyone even finds us in Bergen?” Draco asked. “We’re pretty far away from everything. You-Know-Who cares most about Britain. He’s been in France all this time, if that’s where Magnus was found. And why would You-Know-Who even care enough to find us? It’s not like we could do anything for him. He’s got what he wants now if he found his phylactery.”

“My concern is that he may be aware you’re involved in the Order,” Dumbledore replied. “Voldemort might come to you for information.”

“What could we even say?” Dagmar shrugged. “It’s November, so you’re at Hogwarts. Potter’s an Auror, so try the Ministry if you’re looking for him. It’s nothing they wouldn’t know. Everything Potter tells us about Order business is basically just things my mum has said.”

Dumbledore still didn’t look fully convinced. “You’re sure this is what you want to do?”

“The only evidence in our house we even talk to Potter is the messenger we share with him,” Draco said. “I could take it to work and put it in my locker. I can talk to my boss on Monday when she’s back in the office. I’ll let her know what’s going on and how to get a hold of you if something happens.”

“Me too.” Dagmar nodded. “I’ll talk to my dean tomorrow.”

“Well. . .” Dumbledore sighed quietly. “I can’t tell you what to do, only give my recommendation. The only other person who’s ever managed to fool Voldemort is Professor Snape. I’m uncomfortable with it.”

“We know,” Dagmar replied, “but we’re prepared to do what we have to.”

Despite that, Dagmar was made nervous anew after seeing Dumbledore so uncertain. She knew that she and Draco were doing something relatively untested. No situation which arose with Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters would be predictable. Dagmar hadn’t foreseen the time she met Voldemort in this very same drawing room. Dagmar’s dad being killed and her mum being arrested came similarly with no warning.

Dagmar let out a long sigh after she and Draco made it back home. “So you’ll take Potter’s messenger tomorrow, then?”

“I could even nip it up there today,” Draco replied. “What else should we get out of here in case somebody happens to show up?”

The messenger they shared with Auntie Andie and Uncle Ted came off the desk with Potter’s, as well as the two letters from Narcissa. Dagmar debated on the messenger she shared with Hermione, but she didn’t want it to look like she had anticipated company if it came to that. Rather, Dagmar wrote to Hermione to say that perhaps for now it was best they keep any correspondence between them to a personal level. No business. 

Draco flipped through their other messengers. “Talking to Blaise, Theo, and Daphne isn’t exactly suspicious, is it?”

“Nei,” Dagmar agreed. “I think we’re good.”

Draco headed up to the reserve with everything. Dagmar put on coffee, went upstairs to grab a jumper, and then took her cup out onto the front deck. Heimdall was out there, laying in the sun. He made a noise in his throat when Dagmar nudged him with her foot on her way to one of the comfy chairs in front of the windows.

Dagmar heard the fireplace whoosh a little while later. Dagmar knocked on the window and held her mug up. Draco joined her with one of his own.

“Not quite how we wanted the weekend to go, did we?” Draco asked.

“Nei,” Dagmar agreed. “Oh well. It’s not like anything has changed for us. There was always the possibility that Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters would seek us out for some reason. It might be that we’re more irrelevant than ever.”

“Yeah.” Draco held his mug off to the side so that Heimdall had space to jump up onto his lap. “I don’t see why You-Know-Who would strike anywhere but the Ministry or Hogwarts. When he wasn’t chasing Magnus, he was trying to hunt down Potter. You-Know-Who probably wouldn’t mind trying to get Dumbledore out the way, either.”

Dagmar was more worried for everyone she knew that lived or worked in London. What about Blaise? They couldn’t tell him what was going on, and he was in Diagon Alley everyday. He wouldn’t be living his life with this in mind.

Because Potter’s messenger was now up at Jotunheimen, Dagmar had no means of immediate information. She read the Bergen Seer when it showed up the next morning. When Draco came home after midnight, he said that Potter hadn’t written anything. He didn’t on Monday or Tuesday either.

Wednesday, another patient in Dagmar’s clinic went into labour. Dagmar didn’t end up going home until after six, euphoric from the experience and famished as her hunger caught up to her. Humming after lighting the house up with a wave of her wand, Dagmar headed upstairs to change.

She walked out of the closet afterward and gasped. There was a silhouette in the bedroom door, backlit by the torches downstairs. Before Dagmar could react other than the simultaneous leap of her stomach and drop of her heart, her eyes were closed and she was laying down.

Dagmar sensed she wasn’t alone. She could tell she was on the love seat. Laden with dread and heart immediately pounding again, Dagmar opened her eyes. She faced the living room ceiling.

Someone shifted to her right, on the couch. Dagmar looked over. A woman with curly black hair sat there, her dark eyes gazing back at Dagmar from underneath heavy lids. Her thin lips pulled up into a smile that extended no further than her prominent cheekbones. If she looked softer, Dagmar would’ve thought that Auntie Andie popped in for a visit.

“Hello,” Bellatrix Lestrange said in a silky voice, sounding on the verge of amused. “Look who’s awake.”

Unsure what to feel other than numb shock, Dagmar just blinked.

“Sit up. You and I are going to have a little chat.”

Dagmar pushed herself upright, trembling slightly. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep like last Wednesday, suddenly but into a weird dream this time. Dagmar couldn’t accept that Bellatrix Lestrange was in her home.

The idle smile Bellatrix wore reached her eyes as she appraised Dagmar. Her gaze was more predatory than kind.

“I’m going to tell you some things that you need to know,” Bellatrix said. “Do you remember our trip to Paris last week at all?”

Dagmar blinked again, her cheeks warming to be put on the spot like that for something she had no clue about. “Erm. . .”

“Didn’t think so.” Bellatrix accepted her answer anyway. “We paid an old friend of your mum’s a visit. I don’t really want to go through all of this with you again, having to explain things. The Dark Lord has been looking for something stolen from him by this friend of your mum’s, Magnus Norheim. He didn’t have it anymore.”

Although Dagmar’s stomach flipped with a mix of excitement and surprise, she obscured any external reaction behind pressed lips. Dagmar struggled to recall anything that Bellatrix talked about, but it just wouldn’t come to mind. Nausea still crept up Dagmar’s throat since she had a feeling she knew now what had happened to those three or four hours she lost last Wednesday. The way Bellatrix stared at Dagmar reminded her of something else as well.

“It was you,” Dagmar said quietly under her breath. “That odd woman in my clinic.”

“Yes, now pay attention.” Bellatrix waved a hand impatiently. “The long and short is that your mother created something that was meant to hold the Dark Lord’s soul. She wasn’t done when the Dark Lord disappeared, but the Dark Lord had protected himself in the meantime with. . .insurance, if you will.” Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. “When the Dark Lord returned, he intended to collect on what your mother built him. As I mentioned, Norheim stole it.”

“He didn’t have it, though?” Dagmar asked, to be sure.

“No.” Bellatrix’s upper lip curled. “He lost it. He had his memory wiped as far back as he could without forgetting why he was supposed to hide. The Dark Lord thought that seeing you might jog it, since you look so much like your mum. It didn’t work.”

“Oh.”

“This puts the Dark Lord in a bit of a predicament.” Bellatrix smiled again in that predatory way. “See, he hasn’t been doing very well lately. The body he returned with wasn’t meant to last long anyway, but the clock on that was cut much shorter after you hit him with that curse last summer. Your mother treated him until. . .well. If the Dark Lord’s search must go on, then he needs further intervention. Who better to do it than the one who injured him in the first place?”

“So. . .” Dagmar scratched her head. “I don’t mean to be, erm. . .I can’t leave. I’m sure you don’t care, but I have classes to go to. I have exams coming up. People rely on me in my clinic. And Draco. . .I can’t just disappear.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Bellatrix said. “The Dark Lord is resting in one of your guest rooms. We’ll be staying here for a while.”

Dagmar’s gaze drifted away from Bellatrix and slightly to the right, to the hallway. The spare bedroom door beside the office was indeed closed.

“I’m under no illusions you don’t revere the Dark Lord,” Bellatrix continued, drawing Dagmar’s gaze back. “Perhaps you even feel a little cocky after you so brashly assaulted him. Before you get any funny ideas about taking advantage of the Dark Lord in a moment of weakness, there’s something else you need to know. Back when the Dark Lord and your mother first met, the Dark Lord didn’t trust her blindly. If your mother was going to handle the Dark Lord’s soul, which he valued above all else, then she ought to put up something similar. _You_ were your mother’s collateral.”

Dagmar blinked. “What do you mean?”

“To your mother’s credit, she was just as shafted by Harry Potter.” Bellatrix crossed her legs. “Had all gone according to plan, the connection between you and the Dark Lord would’ve been lifted once the job was done. It turned out to be quite to the Dark Lord’s advantage, actually, once he returned. He dies, _you_ die. You were lucky he took the Killing Curse indirectly last time. Kept your mum and dad pretty motivated on making things right.”

Tightness in Dagmar’s throat made her unable to reply.

“So think about that if you want to try any funny business,” Bellatrix said. “Don’t let your father have died for nothing.”

Bellatrix blurred in Dagmar’s vision.

“Ugh, and don’t start crying again.”

Dagmar couldn’t help it. She felt stupid on top of scared as Bellatrix irritably sighed. She wished Draco was there with her, at least to help her understand. Dagmar thought she had a good grasp on the situation after everything her mum had told Potter. Did that mean that her mum lied? Or at least left out some very important details?

Bellatrix sat with her head back against the couch while Dagmar collected herself. She looked annoyed. “Is that out of your system, then? Are you ready to begin?”

“I guess.” Dagmar didn’t see that she had much other choice.

“Come on.”

Dagmar’s heart raced again as Bellatrix led her to the back of the house. Torch light spilled out underneath the door. Bellatrix rapped a knuckle against it before letting herself in. Just as Bellatrix said he was, Voldemort laid in the bed. He’d removed his travel cloak at some point and wore a regular black shirt. The blanket was down to his stomach. It rose and fell quickly with his shallow breaths. Dagmar stopped in the doorway, held at bay by the scarlet eyes that bore into her.

At first Dagmar thought it was hatred Voldemort regarded her with. Dagmar couldn’t imagine he was happy or comfortable coming to her like this for help. It wasn’t hatred in his eyes, though. It was apprehension.

Something moved in the corner by the closet. Dagmar hadn’t noticed the little man with watery eyes, thin hair, and poor skin. He looked back at her with a grimace, as if bracing for Dagmar to move suddenly enough to startle him. He averted his gaze.

Bellatrix moved to the other side of the bed. Her face hardened in the torch light. “Do your thing, then.”

Steeling herself, Dagmar approached the bed. She tried to ignore who she was set to treat, as well as that doing so outside of the hospital without her certificate was completely forbidden. Dagmar focused on what she knew best, instead.

“I’ll need access to your chest,” Dagmar told Voldemort. “This works best with direct skin contact.”

Voldemort’s limbs looked heavy as he lifted them to undo the top buttons on his shirt. His pale skin reflected the light. He was sweating profusely.

“Erm. . .” Dagmar glanced at Bellatrix. “I can’t make any promises. This would be more a nervous system issue. That’s not something I’ve really practiced yet.”

“No time like now,” Bellatrix replied.

Dagmar’s hand trembled as she reached down to place it where Voldemort had cleared a space. She took a deep breath and quieted her mind and body. Voldemort’s heart beat became clearer against her hand. The first thing Dagmar noticed was how weak and irregular it was. She pushed past that. Although blood was an easy way to feel through a body, the nerves were possible with enough concentration. Dagmar met resistance, which furrowed her brow. Rather than insist, she removed her touch.

Voldemort’s clammy skin had left Dagmar’s hand slightly damp. She covertly wiped it off on her hip.

“Well?” Bellatrix asked breathlessly.

“There’s extensive nerve damage,” Dagmar said. “That’s usually progressive. It won’t be completely reversible. I could probably treat the pain.”

Dagmar’s gaze darted down to Voldemort when his breath rasped. “It did feel better.”

“So then do that,” Bellatrix told Dagmar.

“The other problem is the heart.” Dagmar toyed idly with her hands in front of her stomach. “It’s slower than it should be and is out of sync with itself. That I _could_ help, but it’ll hurt.”

Bellatrix looked wary. “What would you do?”

“Shock him.” Dagmar looked down at Voldemort again. “Electrical signals control the heart. Yours are. . .tangled. Have you been lightheaded? Dizzy? Lost consciousness without warning?”

“Yes,” he weakly replied.

“It’s because your heart isn’t pumping enough oxygen to your brain,” Dagmar told him. “Over time, your heart will either give out, or your brain will start to starve. It may become damaged at that point.”

Voldemort’s scarlet eyes darted over Dagmar, considering her. “Do it.”

“My Lord—”

“Hush.” Voldemort’s eyes narrowed at Bella.

“Would you rather I counted down or just did it when ready?” Dagmar asked.

“The latter.”

“It may also take more than one shock.”

“Whatever you have to do.”

Nerves fluttering briefly, Dagmar put her hand back on Voldemort’s chest. She slipped into concentration and drew up a collection of electricity. When enough of it welled between her and Voldemort, she drove it down into him.

His muscles jolted straight. That included his larynx and diaphragm, which forced out a gasp. Voldemort’s eyes widened. On the other side of the bed, Bellatrix caught a whimper in her hands as she brought them up to her mouth.

Voldemort’s rhythm was better, but still not ideal. It wasn’t self-regulating after a couple minutes’ wait, so Dagmar did it again. Voldemort’s skin grew slicker with fresh sweat. By the fifth shock, Voldemort braced himself for each new defibrillation. He seemed relieved when Dagmar finally stopped. Voldemort clenched his eyes shut and curled his hand over his heart. He grimaced as heavily as he breathed.

Bellatrix was nearly in tears. “Are you all right, my Lord?”

“His heart is still weak, but it’s at least pumping the way it should be now,” Dagmar said. “He should rest. Doing anything else might be too stressful.”

“How long will it hurt like that?” Bellatrix asked Dagmar, eyes shining.

“It’ll go away in a day or so.” Dagmar turned back to Voldemort, who had relaxed as best he could in the bed. “I could give you some Wiggenweld Potion for the pain, and some salve for the topical burns. I have both kicking around upstairs.”

Voldemort nodded weakly, so Dagmar took that as permission to leave. She hadn’t made it past the office before footsteps caught up to her. Looking shaken but resolute, Bellatrix followed.

“I need an escort, do I?” Dagmar asked.

“No,” Bellatrix snipped.

She followed regardless, up the stairs and into Dagmar and Draco’s bedroom. Dagmar wasn’t comfortable with that, but she didn’t know how to tell Bellatrix to get out. Dagmar wasn’t exactly in a position to bargain or make demands. The best thing she could do was go along with everything they wanted from her. They would be out of her house quicker that way.

What then? If Bellatrix spoke the truth that Dagmar’s mortality was conditional on Voldemort’s, that created a serious problem in telling Potter or Dumbledore that Voldemort had been here. How could Dagmar continue to align with the Order if Voldemort’s death brought her own? Dagmar’s stomach sunk anew as she dug through the bathroom for the things she’d come upstairs for. She wanted to say she was noble enough to sacrifice her life for the greater good. In reality, it terrified Dagmar. Things were going so well for her. She’d found success at her career and started to settle in with the Ramstads as her reclaimed family. She and Draco had built a home together. They had plans—a marriage and kids on the horizon.

Dagmar held out the Wiggenweld Potion and Sanasalve to Bellatrix. “Is this something you can give him? I’d like a minute to myself, if you don’t mind.”

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose as she accepted the bottle and tube. “Ugh, you’re so much like my baby sister. Considering what you did to the Dark Lord summer before last, I thought you’d be a _lot_ tougher than this.”

“I guess I’m not.” Dagmar wasn’t in a mood to argue.

With pressed lips and eyebrows high, Bellatrix left. Dagmar followed her as far as the bedroom and allowed her breath to shallow out when Bellatrix’s footsteps neared the bottom of the stairs. Dagmar held a hand over her mouth to stifle herself as she folded her other arm over her stomach.

What were they going to do? Dagmar’s instinct was to disapparate to Den Sultne Jotunn and then go up to the dragon reserve to find Draco. They could run. They could go back to Britain for sanctuary and let Dumbledore know that Voldemort was here.

Dagmar couldn’t, though. What if Bellatrix told the truth about how her dad died? He’d jumped in front of Voldemort, after all. If he had no love for Voldemort himself, then why else? If Dagmar’s dad knew she would die if Voldemort did, then what other choice did he see if he wanted her to live?

She and Draco had tried _so hard_ to escape this. This must be why nobody ever chased them, or why they never saw any blowback for the disdain they’d shown toward Voldemort. It didn’t matter if Dagmar struck him with lightning. It never mattered that Draco denounced him. In the end, they all knew that Dagmar and Draco would have no choice but to conform. Dagmar’s life had value. She didn’t want to die. Draco certainly wouldn’t want her to, either.

Dagmar numbly shifted back into her usual evenings alone, closing the bedroom door and hopping into the shower. Because Bellatrix had a skewed notion of boundaries, Dagmar didn’t really dare close her eyes while she washed herself. The bedroom seemed undisturbed when Dagmar nipped from the bathroom to the closet.

Bellatrix had started making herself at home downstairs. She was peering into the ice box. She glanced over at Dagmar as she hesitated by the hallway mouth.

“Why’re you so scared of me?” she asked with a derisive snort. “I won’t hurt you. The Dark Lord needs you.”

“And when V—the Dark Lord _doesn’t_ need me, anymore?”

“That’s my grandmother’s ring on your finger, I’ll remind you. You’re family.”

Dagmar nodded stiffly, touching the back of her engagement ring with the tip of her thumb. “Right.”

“What’s in the pot?” Bellatrix asked as Dagmar came into the kitchen.

“Stew,” Dagmar answered. “Draco put it together this afternoon.”

“Aw, my little nephew cooks?” Bellatrix giggled slightly. “That’s cute. Where are your house elves?”

“Not really a thing in Norway,” Dagmar lingered by the range. “We both enjoy cooking anyway. Erm. . .did you want me to heat that up? I think Draco meant for it to last a couple days, but with extra mouths. . .”

“If you’d be so kind.” Bellatrix moved out of the way so that Dagmar could grab the pot. “The Dark Lord prefers simple foods. I’m not picky, nor is Wormtail. Throw him the scraps and he’ll make do. I’d say he could stand to eat in his rat form, but the Dark Lord is all soft on him right now for finding Norheim.”

Dagmar carried the pot back to the range. “That’s who that was? Peter Pettigrew?”

“Heard of him, have you?”

“His name was in the papers after the Dark Lord returned.”

“Oh, yes.” Bellatrix giggled again as she took a seat at the kitchen island. “An opportunist, perhaps, but a handy one. I’ll give Wormtail credit for finding Norheim. Norheim was a coward as well, so you could say nobody was better suited to think like him. I honestly thought Wormtail had abandoned the Dark Lord. Perhaps he intended to by getting himself lost in the Catacombs. But. . .he came through when it mattered most.”

Bellatrix looked more annoyed than happy to say that.

Dagmar ran her fingers through wet hair so that she could put it back in a ponytail. “Er—are the Dark Lord and Peter hungry, then?”

“I’ll ask.”

Bellatrix headed down the hallway. Dagmar brought down four bowls, just in case. Bellatrix returned with Peter, who continued to regard Dagmar with apprehension. Peter let out a little yelp when Bellatrix slapped him on the back.

“Wormtail will take the Dark Lord his.” Bellatrix’s tone turned sickly sweet. “Who needs house elves, now I think about it? Look at him, Dagmar. Doesn’t he sort of look like one?”

Were Peter’s eyes not watery every time Dagmar had seen him so far tonight, she’d think that Bellatrix’s comment moved him to tears. Peter’s weak chin trembled, and he kept his gaze to the floor. Dagmar tried more to feel pity about such a pathetic man, but she couldn’t help the trickle of disgust that tainted that.

“Well?” Bellatrix prompted her.

“Sure,” Dagmar said quietly just to appease her. Peter seemed to shrink even smaller than he already was.

Bellatrix held the back of Peter’s neck. “Now thank my niece for being so kind as to offer you dinner.”

“Thank you,” Peter managed in a bare whisper as he accepted the two bowls Dagmar prepared for him and the Dark Lord.

As Peter returned to the back of the house, Dagmar’s appetite waned again. Bellatrix readily accepted her bowl, her spoon clanking while Dagmar pushed her reindeer, potatoes, and carrots around in the rich broth.

“I have to say, Draco isn’t bad at this,” Bellatrix said in a break between bites. “Maybe if he gets tired of dragons, he could do this instead. I’m not sure why he works anyway. He certainly doesn’t need to. Were the assets frozen?”

“Draco wanted to work,” Dagmar said. “He likes his job.”

“Well, you know what they say. Do what you love, and all that.” Bellatrix chuckled, then pointed her chin at Dagmar. “So what about you? Healing, huh?”

Dagmar nodded. “I like it a lot. I’m good at it.”

“So I’ve seen.”

Dagmar resisted feeling too proud about receiving a genuine compliment from Bellatrix Lestrange. It seemed like it would be rare. “Speaking of which, I meant to do some review tonight for my exams coming up in a few weeks. Erm, if you wanted, I could get you set up in the other guest room. I could find you a bigger towel than what’s in the bathroom if you want a wash.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Bellatrix replied. “Draco gets home at midnight?”

“Little after.”

“I’d like to see him before I turn in. I haven’t seen him since, oh. . .” Bellatrix pursed her lips. “It’s been a few years, I suppose.”

Try as she might, Dagmar couldn’t focus at all when she got around to trying to study. The house was mostly quiet spare the odd sound of sloshing water as Bellatrix laid in the bathtub. As eleven-thirty passed and Bellatrix emerged in fresh clothes, perfumed by the body wash Daphne had left behind, Dagmar started to get nervous again. Draco was going to come in through the fireplace, and Dagmar had no idea how he was going to react to seeing his aunt resting on the couch.

Bellatrix’s eyes opened when the fire’s flames turned from orange to green shortly after midnight. She was in the process of sitting up when Draco stepped out. He froze. He blinked at Bellatrix before looking at Dagmar.

“Er. . .” he managed. “Hello.”

“Well now, look at you!” Bellatrix approached Draco. His apprehension turned him stiff as Bellatrix pulled him into a tight hug. Eyes wide, he pat her on the shoulder. “You must have had another growth spurt. Or maybe it’s just what you’re wearing. Dragons, Draco? Really? What would your parents say about that, do you think?”

“I dunno.” Draco kept looking over at Dagmar.

Bellatrix giggled. “Oh well, what’s life without a little rebellion, huh? I hope I’m in the room when your mum finds out. It’ll be _delightful_.”

Draco grimaced.

“I just wanted to say hello before I turned in,” Bellatrix said. “I’ll see you both in the morning. When do you leave, Dagmar?”

“Class starts at nine,” she quietly replied.

“Probably afternoon, then. Night.”

Draco watched her toddle off for the back of the house. Lips parted and cheeks blotched, he turned back to Dagmar, who had stood as well. He stepped over to her as Bellatrix closed the spare bedroom door.

“What the _fuck_ is she doing here?” Draco said in Norwegian, his low voice trembling.

Dagmar shook her head. She didn’t even know where to start, and Draco’s disposition didn’t help jog her mind. “Don’t get mad at _me_ about it. You think I invited her?”

“I’m not mad at you, just mad.”

“Can we talk about it upstairs?” Dagmar asked.

Draco huffed as he removed his boots, expression set toward a sneer. He didn’t bother to lighten his steps on the way upstairs. Dagmar cringed, hoping that the blatant show of disrespect wouldn’t wake Voldemort. Dagmar closed the bedroom door with care before Draco had a chance to slam it.

“Well?” Draco crossed his arms.

“Please calm down.” Dagmar kept her voice to a whisper. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to.”

Draco’s lips pushed out into a purse and his shoulders relaxed. He still didn’t look happy, but Dagmar couldn’t fault him that.

“This is really cocked up.” Dagmar touched Draco’s elbows in further attempt to soothe him. “Voldemort’s here too.”

Draco blinked slowly, eyebrows rising.

“It’s. . .herregud, Draco.” Dagmar glanced at the door. “He’s in terrible shape. They want me to treat him.”

“Treat him how?”

“His heart’s on the verge of giving out, and his nerves are so damaged he’s in constant pain.” Dagmar pressed her lips together. “Magnus didn’t have the locket. Bellatrix killed him.”

Draco’s expression relaxed, and his gaze darted slightly. “So. . .that’s perfect, then. We get the hell out of here, let Dumbledore or Kingsley or Potter know where he is, and they come deal with it.”

“We can’t.” Dagmar held Draco in place. “Not yet, anyway. Bellatrix told me something, and I have no way of knowing if it’s true. She said that when my mum made Voldemort’s phylactery, he didn’t trust her completely with his soul. She had to put up collateral, and she picked me. There’s some kind of connection between us. If he dies, _I_ die. Bellatrix said it’s why my parents stayed in line. It’s why my dad. . .”

Dagmar couldn’t bring herself to say it, but Draco seemed to understand anyway, based on his face falling again. He looked at the bedroom door, thinking.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dagmar whispered. “Do you think that’s why we’ve gotten away with denouncing him? Hurting him? Because no matter what, we were always. . .stuck?”

Draco rubbed his eyes. “You think it’s true?”

“I don’t know. It makes enough sense I’m scared to try anything. They know what I’m capable of because I’m treating Voldemort for what I’ve already done to him once. I could easily kill him. But they brought him to me anyway for help. Maybe your aunt is lying just to keep me in line, but herregud, Draco, why else did my dad jump in the way? I don’t know what to think.”

“So what, then?” Draco asked. “We just let them camp out at our house? How long are they even planning on being here?”

“I don’t know.”

Draco pressed his lips together. He kept thinking in the new silence, his gaze as quick as his thoughts, but he was quickly losing steam.

“I hate my family,” he eventually said, unfastening his cloak. “They’ve been playing with us this whole time, haven’t they? I wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s the reason my father wanted me to go with you. If he knew I might not feel it anymore, hey, why not give my son the chance to love somebody he’ll lose if he doesn’t fall in line?”

That cut Dagmar deeply, the space of which filled with guilt despite that her parents were likely just as complicit. Chest aching and vision blurring anew, Dagmar considered her ring. If that was the case, then they’d likely done exactly what was expected of them.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmar managed. “I didn’t mean to trap you.”

“Hey—no,” Draco said right away, forgetting about his armour to return to Dagmar. “No, don’t think about it like that. That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s true, though.” Dagmar replied. “You could’ve gotten out.”

“I did. _We_ did.” Draco cupped her cheek. “Don’t panic. There has to be a way. We’ll figure it out, just like we always have. It’ll be okay.”

Although Dagmar was having a very hard time believing that, her fear came into conflict with her trust in Draco. She found it in her then to return his embrace, tentatively at first, and then as tightly as she could manage when his armour remained half-doffed. Honestly, if anyone needed comfort in this situation, it was him. Dagmar wouldn’t feel anything if she died. Draco would, though. He’d be the one left behind to pick up the pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmar told him with a kiss to his neck. “I won’t leave you like that. I promise.”

Draco’s breath shuddered as he nodded against Dagmar’s shoulder. Dagmar hated that this situation made her wish Draco didn’t love her as much as he did. He could’ve walked away if that was the case. At the same time, Dagmar’s instinct for self-preservation kicked in. She wasn’t resigned to death—far from it.

Dagmar wiped Draco’s cheeks with her thumbs before kissing him. He exhaled, melting into her.

“This is what I’m thinking,” Dagmar said, keeping a hold on Draco’s face so that she could ensure his full attention. “We do what they want, get them on their way, and then we talk to Dumbledore. We might get some helpful information while they’re here. Nobody knows Voldemort better than your aunt. _Nobody_. My mum and your dad are compromised. Neither of them will do or say anything that might put us in danger, so it’s up to us now. If Voldemort can’t die, well, he’ll just have to be brought down a different way.”

Draco sniffled. “But what about the phylactery? Won’t that protect _you_ too?”

“Didn’t sound like it,” Dagmar glumly replied. “Your aunt said something that I was lucky Voldemort didn’t take a direct Killing Curse. It could be that if he quote-unquote dies he’ll be fine, but I won’t.”

“That’ll be something we need to sort out.” Draco wiped his own cheek and took a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah. We just. . .get through it. Dumbledore will help, but there’s nothing to be done right now.”

Dagmar rubbed Draco’s arms. “It’ll be okay, like you said. I mean, they’re here looking for my help. For now, things are okay. We aren’t in danger.”

Draco nodded, but he needed his own chance to absorb everything like Dagmar had earlier. Utterly exhausted, Dagmar crept downstairs to bring Heimdall in for the night. She didn’t want to call too loudly for him in case it woke anybody else. Thankfully, Heimdall was waiting on the railing outside the garden door. He made a disgruntled noise as he landed on the deck, then meowed when he came inside. Dagmar shushed him. Heimdall’s tail twitched and he sniffed the air before slinking upstairs. Just as Dagmar expected, he slipped in under the bed rather than join her on the top.

More tonight than any other for a long time, Dagmar needed her and Draco’s usual pre-sleep contact for some extra form of comfort. Dagmar’s fingers got lost in Draco’s hair and she hooked her knee in his waist as they snogged.

“I love you,” Dagmar told him.

“I love you too.” Draco sighed with what sounded like relief. “No matter what.”


	36. Stick and Carrot

For the briefest of moments when Draco woke up in the morning, he was content. He remained naked, since he’d been too drained after he and Dagmar shagged to bother with his pants. Dagmar was half-dressed in the bathroom, only as far as her knickers and bra as she worked on her hair and makeup. While Draco watched her, his mood slipped as the reality of last night draped back over him like a low-laying fog.

To say it terrified Draco to lose Dagmar was an understatement. She was the linchpin in the foundation of his life. They’d built such a good one together. Draco should’ve probably known it was too good to take for granted.

His anxiety hushed when Dagmar glanced over at the bed. She looked again when she realized she had Draco’s gaze. She abandoned her hairbrush and came over. Since she smiled, it was harder for Draco to get stuck in all the negative emotions swirling around beneath his surface. Dagmar eked a grin out of Draco when she straddled his hips. Her loose hair brushed against Draco’s shoulder as they kissed, and her weight was a massive comfort.

Draco sat up. He wrapped his arms tightly around Dagmar’s middle and unabashedly buried his face between her breasts. Her laugh tickled him, and her nails lightly raking his scalp were heavenly.

“Well, good morning,” she said as she nuzzled the top of his head.

“It is, for now.”

“I’m going to run to the market after classes let out,” Dagmar told him. “We’ll need more food if. . .well, I don’t know how long we’re going to be playing host, so might as well be prepared.”

“Yeah.” Draco sighed.

“Are you going back to sleep?” Dagmar ran a thumb underneath one of Draco’s eyes. “You look tired.”

“Probably will. If I can avoid the circus downstairs until you’re home, I’m going to try my best.”

Dagmar chuckled mirthlessly, kissing him one more time before she went back to getting dressed. Draco watched her pull on black leggings and a colourfully striped jumper. It slipped down over one shoulder as she pulled on some brown boots.

“Might as well check your messenger at noon,” Dagmar said as she leaned over Draco again for a final kiss. “If someone else from my clinic goes into labour, it might be a longer day for me than expected. Could I leave you a shopping list downstairs just in case?”

“Or you could just leave it to me altogether,” Draco suggested. “I’ll go when I get up.”

That earned Draco another kiss. “Thanks.”

“Honestly, anything I can do to avoid Aunt Bella.”

Dagmar snorted before turning serious. “Maybe leave a note for her. It’s probably best to keep her informed on everything we do to avoid any unnecessary drama.”

“Yeah.”

Dagmar left, and Draco laid there with his eyes open until he heard the fireplace whoosh with her departure. He grew nervous to be home without Dagmar. Since the house was quiet, Draco somehow fell back asleep. It was close to eleven when he woke up again.

Draco sighed to find Bella on the love seat in the living room. She was flipping through all the books and magazines Draco and Dagmar had in their reading basket with a wrinkled nose.

“Got anything in English?” she asked Draco.

“Maybe somewhere.” Draco shrugged. “Library’s on the loft if you want to look through there, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Aunt Bella grunted.

“I need to go to the market,” Draco said as he headed into the kitchen. The list Dagmar made was on the island. She’d put down some basic household items along with some meal ideas. “Says here I should ask what you and, er—the Dark Lord like?”

“The Dark Lord prefers simple meals, but I’d kill for a full English.”

“For dinner? Bit late for breakfast.”

“Whatever. I’m not fussy.”

That wasn’t a whole lot for Draco to work with. By the looks of the list, Dagmar planned on doing some baking. If she was going to make bread, then Draco might as well just buy fixings for sandwiches. It would make a decent alternative for if Bella and You-Know-Who didn’t like what Draco and Dagmar ate. Draco added potatoes as well, for chips.

Draco looked up as Bella came into the kitchen. “Anything else you want me to grab?”

“Wouldn’t mind some crisps.” Aunt Bella sat down at the island. “Could you find me something to read or do?”

Draco bit his tongue on saying he’d check if the bookstore had any copies left of _How to be Less of a Psychotic Arsehole_. “What do you like, crosswords or something?”

“Whatever.”

Aunt Bella kept watching Draco. He ignored it for as long as he could before looking over at her. “What?”

She snorted. “Your accent is so adorable.”

Draco grunted.

“And you’re as grumpy as ever,” Aunt Bella said. “What, you don’t like having your old auntie around? You have such a nice home, it’d be a shame to let all this space go unoccupied.”

“How long are you going to be here?”

“As long as it takes for the Dark Lord to feel better. That’s up to Dagmar.” Aunt Bella sighed, a contented noise. “I checked on the Dark Lord this morning. He’s still tired after last night, but definitely better. He doesn’t feel as weak.”

“That’s good.” As far as getting his home back, Draco was honest.

“It really is. There isn’t much worse than seeing someone so brilliant and powerful be failed by their body.” Bella looked solemn when Draco glanced up from his list again.

Draco cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be back in a little while. Half an hour, hour at most.”

“Before you go, Dagmar told you about what happens if the Dark Lord dies?”

Draco looked back at Aunt Bella. The shred of humanity he’d seen in her had vanished, replaced by her usual coldness. “Yes.”

“Good, so don’t do anything stupid,” Bella told him. “I want to talk to you about something else when you get back. Let’s call it a reward for good behaviour, hm?”

Apparating down to Den Sultne Jotunn came with a sense of surreality for Draco. He returned Sigrid’s wave at the inn’s front desk, and headed for Trollmannsgaten as if it were any other day. Draco floated through the market. Away from home, he couldn’t help but think about what he might possibly do to better his situation. Could he send an owl to Dumbledore and just let him know what was going on? Did he dare try? What if Aunt Bella intercepted it? Nephew or not, Draco feared being caught on the end of a Cruciatus Curse. Even if Aunt Bella didn’t catch the owl, Draco wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knocked over the first domino that led up to You-Know-Who’s death and, in turn, Dagmar’s.

Draco wanted to believe that Aunt Bella was bluffing. Would Aunt Bella be so comfortable letting Draco and Dagmar go about their daily lives if there wasn’t a connection between Dagmar and You-Know-Who? Draco’s stomach sunk at the thought. Dagmar had said last night that her mum and his father were compromised. So then were Draco and Dagmar now.

Maybe not, though. Draco wanted to talk to Dumbledore before that was an official status. If anyone would understand, it would be him. Dumbledore would take this connection between Dagmar and You-Know-Who into consideration for how he strategized on bringing this war to an end. If Dumbledore decided it was best Draco and Dagmar no longer be involved in the Order—or at least their information be stemmed—Draco would respect that. Really, Draco had only one wish. He just wanted the life he and Dagmar had made for themselves. It was true Draco could get that with either side prevailing, but he couldn’t abide by You-Know-Who’s methods. Draco didn’t believe the wizarding world was better off without Muggle-borns or half-bloods. After visiting Leidfall, Draco couldn’t even see being a pureblood as the be-all end-all of magical folk. All of it was arbitrary. Absolutely none of it mattered. For the life of him, Draco couldn’t understand why people like Aunt Bella built their entire life around it. Draco couldn’t even remember enough from when he too believed in pureblood supremacy why he cared so much.

Draco had little choice but to commit to his and Dagmar’s plan to ride this out. He finished his shopping and apparated home. He came in through the garden door, listening to where Aunt Bella had gotten to. She came downstairs as Draco unpacked his bags in the kitchen.

“Ooh, thanks.” Bella thumbed through the small pile of magazines Draco had bought. She held up one of the puzzle books. “This is Norwegian.”

“It’s word search. You don’t need to know the language.”

“Guess not.”

“What were you doing upstairs?”

“Just looking through the library, like you said I could.”

“‘Kay.” Draco paused. “Do I have to ask you explicitly not to go in me and Dagmar’s room? If you and the Dark Lord are going to be here, we want at least _some_ privacy.”

“That’s fine.” Bellatrix waved a dismissive hand with a small giggle. “Not like I want to _intrude_ on anything, but just so you know, sound carries a bit through the floor.”

Draco couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed about what she might have heard last night. “I’m sure you’re right shocked that I occasionally like to shag my fiancée.”

“Sounds like she likes it too.”

“You just live to try and make people as uncomfortable as possible, don’t you?”

Aunt Bella laughed while reaching for the bag of BBQ and sour cream crisps that Draco had bought for her. “It’s fun to watch people squirm. Too bad you’re immune. You’re not as much fun as your mum.”

Draco returned to putting the groceries away, his back to Aunt Bella.

“That’s what we need to talk about,” Bella said, crunching away on a crisp. “Your mum. Would you like to see her?”

Draco paused in reviewing the pantry. Heat flooded into his cheeks. Aunt Bella appeared overly satisfied with herself when Draco looked back at her. Maybe Aunt Bella couldn’t get a rise out of Draco by making digs at his sex life, but his mum was a definite weak spot.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked.

“Do you want to see her,” Bella repeated, eyeing Draco closely. “She’s been hiding at the new base. She told me that Dagmar wanted to be a Healer. Since I found you two through St. Mungo’s and then the hospital here, _she’s_ due for a reward too. I think it would cheer her up a lot since missing you seems to be the main reason she’s been so mopey.”

Draco’s heart pounded. He wasn’t sure he did such a good job at hiding how badly he wanted that.

“Let’s see how things go here for a little while first.” Aunt Bella pulled another crisp out of the crinkly bag. “You behave, Dagmar does what she needs to for the Dark Lord, and I’ll make a run to get her.”

“Okay.” Draco didn’t know what else to say. _Thank you_ came to mind, but he wanted to see first if Aunt Bella would deliver on that promise.

Draco checked the messenger he shared with Dagmar at noon, but she hadn’t written saying that she needed to stick around the hospital. Rather, she arrived home shortly before quarter-after. Dagmar helped Draco with lunch, seemingly aware that his mood had sunken. She brushed their hands together or touched his back, but Draco didn’t want to tell her until they could be alone just what had knocked him so off-kilter.

“How’s the Dark Lord feeling?” Dagmar asked Bella as she sliced bread for sandwiches.

“I believe he’s sleeping again,” Bella replied. “I told Wormtail to let me know when he was ready for you to check in.”

“Ugh.” Draco sneered. “ _He’s_ here? Who else is?”

“Just us three, plus a guard. Don’t worry about them.” Bella still worked on her crisps, although eyed the second bag Draco brought out to go along with their sandwiches. “I know, I’m not big on Wormtail either. I can’t wait for his usefulness to dry up. Have you even met him, Draco?”

“No.”

“He’s even more pathetic in-person. Just you wait and see.”

Draco nodded mindlessly. He didn’t really care so much about Wormtail being in his home when You-Know-Who and Aunt Bella were much bigger deals. He didn’t realize there were more eyes around the cottage. Draco wondered if a pair of them had followed him around the market earlier.

After lunch when Dagmar headed upstairs to change into something more comfortable, Draco followed her. Dagmar stopped shy of the closet when Draco quietly closed the door. She looked him over before pulling him in for a much-needed hug.

She kissed his shoulder. “How’re you doing?”

“My mum’s been with Bella this whole time.”

Dagmar stiffened before pulling back enough to meet Draco’s gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Aunt Bella told me she’s in hiding at their new base.” Even though they spoke Norwegian, Draco lowered his voice to a whisper. “I wonder why Mum left me that letter, then. Didn’t want me to be grilled by Aurors?”

“Maybe.” Dagmar’s gaze darted toward the bedroom door. “Bellatrix just mentioned it, or. . .?”

“She said that if we’re good, she’ll bring Mum for a visit.”

Dagmar nibbled briefly on her bottom lip. “But. . .that’s good, right? I mean, as far as your mum maybe coming? What does your aunt mean by us being good? Just going along?”

“Pretty much. She said that I behave and you do what needs to be done for You-Know-Who.”

“I guess we’ll see if she’s a woman of her word, then,” Dagmar said. “That’s what we were planning on doing anyway. Do you think your mum’s been all right?”

“I hope so.” That’s what made Draco most nervous about the situation. “I wanted to believe she was relaxing somewhere. It’s probably not been very relaxing if she’s been living like this.”

“Hard to say. After eight months, you’d start to get used to it, wouldn’t you?”

Even then, Draco didn’t like the sudden shift in his knowledge about his mum’s whereabouts.

“As far as how we act, it doesn’t change anything.” Dagmar rubbed Draco’s arms. “I’m not going to get my hopes up, but we could ask Bellatrix when we go back downstairs. If she gives us a specific date, then she either has to deliver, or she’s a liar. If she lies about your mum, I’d like to think she’s lying about other stuff too.”

Draco was torn as to whether or not he wanted his mum to show up, based on that. “Right.”

Aunt Bella was still in the back of the house as Draco headed into the kitchen to start planning dinner. Dagmar headed over to the couch to try and get some exam review in. Draco glanced up when the spare bedroom door opened, then looked over when Aunt Bella reappeared at the mouth of the hallway.

“The Dark Lord is ready to be looked at again,” she told Dagmar.

“Okay,” Dagmar replied.

Draco’s concentration slipped as Dagmar and Aunt Bella returned to the back of the house. When Draco finished in the kitchen, he headed over to the couch. Heimdall had made himself scarce before Draco even got up, and Draco doubted he would come inside except maybe at night until You-Know-Who, Aunt Bella, and Wormtail left. With Dagmar locked in with the three of them, Draco felt like he could use the cat’s comforting company.

Dagmar and Aunt Bella came out after half an hour. Dagmar’s mood was neutral. Aunt Bella’s leaned toward good, so Draco took that as positive. He felt better when Dagmar resumed her seat on the other end of the couch.

“So. . .” Draco said as Aunt Bella took the love seat along with the word search book he’d bought her earlier. Aunt Bella looked over at him. “Can we talk about my mum?”

A little smile bordering on a smirk overtook Aunt Bella. “What about her?”

“When could she come?”

“Hm. . .” Bella pursed her lips. “What days do you work?”

“Sunday through Thursday. I’m starting nightshift Sunday, so midnight to eight in the morning.”

“Next Thursday?” she offered. “I could leave Wednesday night to get her. We’d be back in the morning.”

Draco consulted Dagmar, who shrugged. “That’d work.”

“Okay.”

Draco chewed idly on his lip as Bella went back to her book. She dipped her quill into a bottle of ink borrowed from Dagmar before scratching away at the first puzzle. “How exactly did Mum wind up with you? Did you pick her up the night Father got arrested?”

“Essentially,” Bella replied without looking over. “She had a little lapse of judgement, and some of it was bad timing. She left your father, hey? Or planned to. I went to Malfoy Manor to get her after everything went to hell at Ramstad Manor and found a letter she’d left your father on their bed. She seemed to think that to leave Lucius, she had to leave the Dark Lord’s circle altogether.”

Aunt Bella rolled her eyes with a quiet scoff.

“Where was she going, then?” Draco asked.

“Andie’s. Ugh.” Bella shuddered, her shoulders tensing. “Could you imagine her degrading herself enough to consort with that blood traitor and her mudblood husband? She must have been desperate to get away from your father. She seems to have come around with some perspective, at least.”

“That’s good,” Draco forced himself to say.

“Doesn’t hurt she’s moved on.” A playful glint returned to Aunt Bella’s eye. “She’s been shagging the babysitter.”

Draco grimaced. Even if it was far from a surprise his parents had split, he didn’t really want to hear about his mum’s sex life.

“You don’t want to know who?” Aunt Bella giggled, seemingly happy to have found something else to get under Draco’s skin with. “You’re friends with Theodore Nott, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Might have a stepbrother then, at some point.” Bella’s eyebrows jumped. “At least you and Theodore are adults, so you won’t need to compete for your mum’s attention. I thought when I got out of Azkaban I’d have more for nieces and nephews than just you. Your mum and dad were trying before I got arrested. Guess they gave up, or maybe it wasn’t by choice. See a lot of that in your clinic, Dagmar?”

“Is there a reason you’re telling Draco all that, other than to make him feel bad?” Dagmar asked.

Bella shrugged. “Part of growing up is learning that your parents are just people.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to violate their privacy like that,” Dagmar remained cross despite the hand Draco rested on her knee. It cut Draco too, but it wasn’t a reason to pick a fight. “Ja, I see lots of infertility, and it’s heartbreaking. That’s so rude of you to make fun of something your sister has probably struggled with. Don’t you care about her feelings at all?”

“She’s not here, so why would she care?”

“She’d care you’re putting all that on Draco. It’s not anyone’s business but hers.”

Draco braced himself for a temper flare, for he’d seen what his aunt was capable of when she felt disrespected. Aunt Bella’s eyes lost any warmth as she regarded Dagmar. Draco let go of the breath he was holding when Aunt Bella just shrugged.

“If you can’t laugh about it, then what do you do?” she coldly said. “I didn’t get to have children at all, or not yet anyway. Like I would bring any into a world overrun by mudbloods. What about you two?”

“You really shouldn’t ask.” Dagmar returned her gaze to her pharmacology textbook. “It’s rude.”

“I can’t even be curious?”

“We’ll keep you in suspense.”

Aunt Bella snorted. “Whatever.”

In the quiet space that fell, the low feeling Bella had tried to cast over Draco found its place. Draco had wondered sometimes why he didn’t have siblings, but he didn’t think there was a reason like that. Even if Aunt Bella was right that growing up meant seeing your parents as fallible human beings, Draco had enough of that already. His father was in prison for bad choices he’d made. His mum was in a different kind of captivity because she’d tried to make the right ones.

“Where’re you going?” Dagmar asked when Draco slipped some shoes on at the garden door.

Draco shrugged. “Gonna go outside for a while, maybe see what Heimr’s up to.”

“All right,” Dagmar replied. “Did you want to eat again before you head to work?”

“I’ll just make a sandwich or something.”

He didn’t bother going any further than the steps. Heimdall was over in the garden chasing gnomes, so sitting and watching him was entertaining enough to take Draco’s mind off his thoughts. He still worried that Dagmar saying anything other than _Yes Ma’am_ to Aunt Bella might jeopardize his mum coming. Draco didn’t expect to hear that Mr. Nott was involved, however it had happened. He was in contact with Dumbledore. Did that mean Dumbledore was aware of his mum’s location, and was factoring it in to how this all played out?

Draco whistled at Heimdall when he let go of a gnome he’d pounced on. Heimdall looked in his direction, then abandoned his game to come say hello. His tail twitched as he rested his backend against Draco’s knee, inviting a scratch at his lower back.

The garden door opened. Since Heimdall bolted, Draco knew before looking back that it was Aunt Bella who came out. She rubbed her arms against the cold, despite wearing a thick jumper. Draco pursed his lips when Aunt Bella sat down beside him.

She nudged him, tone playful. “Always let her do all the talking for you?”

“No,” Draco tersely replied.

“She’s more fun to bug than you or your mum,” Aunt Bella said. “You two just get all sulky and sensitive. Dagmar’ll actually bite back.”

“She doesn’t hide what she’s thinking or feeling.”

“Nope,” Bella agreed. “Makes me feel better about being here. I think if she had a problem with it, I’d know.”

“I don’t think she does other than just not expecting it,” Draco said. “She’s not too happy about what you said, her dying if the Dark Lord dies.”

“Who would be?” Aunt Bella shrugged. A light breeze pushed her hair back off her shoulder. “It’s better she knows, anyway. You two have seemed pretty content just letting everyone else do all the hard work for you in this war, so maybe you’ll think twice before getting involved. Or, if you do, what side you’ll pick.”

Tongue pressed to the top of his mouth, Draco just nodded.

“Although I guess now you are involved.” Bella chuckled. “The Dark Lord is pleased with Dagmar’s work so far. He’s still weak, but the pain has already started to get better. If he’s pleased, _I’m_ pleased.”

“Okay.”

Draco wanted to ask that it hadn’t affected his mum potentially coming to visit, but he also didn’t want to put that into Aunt Bella’s mind. Aunt Bella seemed on the hunt for what sort of ammunition worked best to keep Draco and Dagmar in line. Although Draco had probably given himself away already on it, he didn’t want to drive the point home.

Dagmar seemed in a decent enough mood while she packed a rudimentary dinner for Draco past three. Since they were alone in the kitchen when Draco found her again, she spared him a lingering kiss and rub of the hip. “All right?”

Draco shrugged. “Wish she’d quit dropping things on me like that.”

“Me too.” Dagmar sighed. “At least she shut up once I told her to.”

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable with her not retaliating.”

“I’m not,” Dagmar reassured him with another kiss. “I think she’s just looking for something to do, anyway. Making us uncomfortable seems to be her kind of fun. She wasn’t mad I told her to back off.”

“No.” Draco got the same impression. “I just wouldn’t push it.”

“I won’t.”

Draco pushed some stray hairs off Dagmar’s forehead. “You’ll be okay here with her while I work?”

“I’ll be fine.” Dagmar gave him a genuine smile. “I’m just going to study, make dinner, have a kip, and maybe a bath. Don’t worry about me.”

Draco did anyway. He couldn’t help that he was distracted at work, but gave Big Swede the excuse that he’d had a disagreement over something silly with Dagmar on his way out of the house. Saying he didn’t want to talk about it was enough to get Big Swede off Draco’s back. Since it didn’t impact Draco’s work ethic or efficiency, what else could be said about it? He was relieved to get home and find Dagmar alone on the couch.

“Your aunt went to bed,” Dagmar said in a low voice. “I’m about ready to do the same. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

Draco relaxed when he saw that everything at home had been uneventful while he was gone. It helped strengthen his shaky trust in Aunt Bella. Maybe she was honest when she said she saw Dagmar as family, and maybe there was someone other than the Dark Lord Aunt Bella cared about. She cared about blood, of course. Blood from the Black family flowed through Draco’s veins, and it would flow similarly through Draco and Dagmar’s future children.

Dagmar lingered in the kitchen with Draco while he ate, their voices down to a whisper and their laughs stifled as they found a sliver of normalcy within their situation. Draco felt like the sound of their lips breaking contact was louder than acceptable. He had the mind about him upstairs to cast a Silencing Charm before nudging Dagmar toward a shag. To spite his aunt even if she couldn’t hear them tonight, Draco did his best to draw out Dagmar’s more vocal side. She was just as eager to have fun with Draco while they celebrated the weekend’s arrival.

Maybe because Draco was stressed out, the urge to get on with Dagmar lingered pervasively though Friday and Saturday. He kipped while Dagmar studied and treated You-Know-Who, and Draco didn’t really concern himself with hiding just how fond he was of Dagmar in the time between. It had the hidden virtue of wrinkling Aunt Bella’s nose if they got too overt in their affection. Aunt Bella seemed to enjoy the general mood of the cottage. She kipped a lot on the love seat, and seemed on the verge of touched to realize once that Draco had laid a throw over her. He’d meant it as a joke since she almost looked innocent in slumber.

The week went a near-normal way. Draco got home from work on Sunday morning and had breakfast with Dagmar before heading to bed while she went to her clinic. Draco slept until nearly dinnertime, and then spent the evening with Dagmar and Aunt Bella. Dagmar tended to You-Know-Who each evening, something that remained a mystery to Draco other than what Dagmar told him about it. Draco was just fine never seeing You-Know-Who in the flesh. Aunt Bella was enough of a handful, and Draco’s nose couldn’t wrinkle any further after encountering Wormtail a couple of times.

Wednesday evening, while Dagmar tended to You-Know-Who, Draco sat in the living room with Heimdall. Aunt Bella bumped around in the spare room she’d claimed. She returned to the living room in a travel cloak and with a bag strapped to her back. She set a broom against the bottom of the stairs and started pulling her hair toward a ponytail.

“I should be back sometime early tomorrow,” she told Draco. “Might be a slow return trip, depending on how comfortable your mum is flying.”

“Okay.”

Draco was restless at work. He was completely convinced that the clocks were moving slow on purpose. It didn’t help that there wasn’t a whole lot to do. The rain that had fallen all week turned to snow. With it, the dragons weren’t very active. Draco kept himself busy with Alex and Leo out in the firedrakes enclosure, collecting wood for the fire and playing with Jormundr if he woke up.

It being three weeks shy of the winter solstice, only twilight kissed the horizon when eight AM rolled around. Draco made a quick exit, saying he was ready to crash in bed so that he could be ready to start the weekend with Dagmar.

Draco’s heart pounded when he stepped out of the fireplace. He half-expected his mum to be in the living room, but it was empty. Dagmar poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Hey, you,” she greeted him, her tone regretful. “They’re not back yet.”

Disappointed, Draco slipped off his boots. “Weather might be bad for flying. It was snowing up at Jotunheimen.”

“Could be. Go get changed, and then breakfast should be ready.”

Draco headed upstairs to get out of his armour. In a tee shirt and pyjama trousers, he rejoined Dagmar in the kitchen. He craned his ears while they ate, listening either for someone to land out in the garden or for Aunt Bella’s distinctive laugh.

As nine o’clock approached, Dagmar sighed and headed for the fireplace. Draco followed in order to say goodbye.

“Get some rest, and then she’ll probably be here when you wake up,” Dagmar told Draco with a caress of his cheek. “I’ll be home at noon.”

Draco nodded. “Okay.”

He had no idea how he was going to sleep. Being exhausted eventually overpowered Draco’s restlessness, but he kept jolting awake. One time when he woke up, he heard what sounded like his aunt’s laugh. Heart pounding, Draco listened harder. He could hear his mum’s voice in the kitchen.

“Can you show me to a bed, then?” she was saying. “I’m exhausted.”

“Just sit with me for a bit,” Aunt Bella replied. “I’m too wired to sleep. I’ll only wake you up when I crawl in.”

“You couldn’t pick a new hideout that had more bedrooms? What about upstairs?”

“It’s taken.”

Draco threw the blanket off. What felt like a tight hand gripped his throat. As he came downstairs, he could hear his mum whispering to Aunt Bella, but Aunt Bella did nothing but smile in a very smug sort of way as she exited the kitchen while Draco neared it. Draco came around the wall.

His mum was backing up toward the dining room, looking uncertain. She stopped as she and Draco stared at each other. She brought her hands to her crumpling face.

She didn’t have time to meet Draco halfway before he was pulling her into a hug. Her arms went tight around his neck, and Draco wasn’t embarrassed at all that his body silently wracked with relief and happiness. His mum wasn’t doing anything different.

“Oh my god,” she eventually said through a heavy sniffle. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You too,” Draco managed.

His mum pulled away and used the sleeve of her travel cloak to wipe her cheeks. “What’re you doing here?”

Draco blinked, not even bothering to fuss like he normally would as his mum cleaned him up next. “I live here.”

“This is your house?” She looked around.

“Yeah, didn’t Aunt Bella tell you?”

His mum shook her head. “She said we were getting away from the island for a while. I figured it was because the sun set for the last time today.”

Aunt Bella spoke from behind Draco: “I thought the surprise might be nice.”

She leaned against the wall by the pantry. Her smile remained smug.

“Thank you,” Draco’s mum said with another sniffle.

“Maybe I’m _not_ the worst sister in the world, hm?” Aunt Bella pushed off the wall. “I’m going to bed. Crawl in whenever you’re ready. I probably won’t wake up.”

Draco’s mum pulled him back into a hug. “Where’s Dagmar?”

“Class,” Draco answered. “It’s her last one of the term before she writes her exams next week.”

“She’s in school?”

“Sort of, yeah. She has courses at the hospital, but she does practicum as well. And she has a clinic on Sundays.”

Draco’s mum rubbed his arms and smiled at him as they stood toe to toe again. She looked pretty okay, Draco thought. Tired and wind-swept, certainly.

“I’m a little shocked Bella let us visit alone,” his mum said with a mirthless chuckle. She rubbed her eyes, showing her fatigue from the flight. “Does Dagmar get home soon? I’d like to see her if I could, before I turn in.”

“Little past noon, usually.” Draco glanced at the clock. It was eleven. “Tea? Are you hungry?”

“Yes and yes.” His mum chuckled. “Not that I want to impose—”

Draco waved her off as he headed for the kettle to fill. “It’s fine. Dagmar and I do well for ourselves. I would’ve given my entire salary for this chance to see you anyway.”

“Salary?” His mum took a seat at the island. “You’re working?”

Although Aunt Bella had probably conked out, Draco imagined that her ear perked down the hallway. “Up at the dragon reserve.”

“ _Dragon_ reserve.” His mum’s tone turned stern. “You can’t be serious.”

Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the look on her face. “I got on as a dragonologist. Started in August.”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“I’ve wanted to since fourth year,” Draco replied. “I love it.”

His mum still looked uncertain. “You aren’t worried at all?”

“No.” Draco returned to the island, tapping one of the range elements to light it before setting the kettle down. “I don’t get to interact with the dragons yet, really. Only when they’re sedated for whatever reason. I deal more with the firedrakes we brought over from Hogwarts. If Muggle hikers get lost in the park, me and the other apprentices will go find them. We don’t have actual classes, but we’re learning about how to take care of the dragons, their temperament, stuff like that.”

“Hm.”

His mum seemed to perk up from her worried slump when Draco hugged her from behind after setting her tea down on the island. She smiled when he kissed her cheek. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he was that affectionate with her, but it had probably not been since before he was a teenager.

“Come sit in the living room,” Draco told her. “It’s actually not a bad day for weather. If you want, we could even sit outside.”

She was agreeable to sitting outside when Draco gave her a pointed look. Draco nipped upstairs to fetch an extra jumper, since his mum was still a little chilled from her flight. He handed it to her outside, where she had picked one of the comfy chairs on the deck.

She scoffed as she held it up. It had a cartoon viking on it holding up two pints of beer. Above the caricature’s horned helmet, it said _Skål!_

“Dagmar saw it down in the market,” Draco explained with a chuckle. “She likes buying me silly things like that.”

His mum smiled warmly at him before pulling it on. “You two are doing good, then? I heard you’re engaged.”

“Yep.” Draco took the other chair. His tea steamed away on the small table between them. “Have been for a couple months now.”

“When are you getting married?”

Draco hesitated. “Not sure. We were okay with a long engagement. We wanted to wait until you came home.”

His mum’s smile slipped a little. She ran her thumb over the handle of her tea cup.

“What happened, Mum?” Draco asked. “I got your letter from Tibby.”

“Erm. . .” His mum’s gaze turned long over the bay. “Just a bunch of mistakes. I shouldn’t have left a letter for your father. That’s how Bella knew I’d left. She made a lucky guess I was going to Andie’s.”

Draco nodded, stomach sinking. “Where have you been?”

“Up north somewhere,” his mum said. “I’m not sure where exactly. I think close to Tromsø. It’s an old house of Hildegard’s, or something. She used to live there when Dagmar was still a baby. It’s on an island.”

Draco sat up straighter. “Fantomøy.”

His mum furrowed her brow.

“Phantom Island,” Draco clarified, although it didn’t seem to make his mum understand any better. “I heard about it. Er, some people were looking for it. It’s not in Tromsø, though. Trondheim.”

“Oh.” His mum shrugged. “Well, I suppose you’d know better than me. I don’t mean to sound silly by asking, but what city are we in right now?”

“Bergen.”

“So we’re still in Norway, then.”

“Mhm.”

His mum smiled again as she reached over to squeeze Draco’s shoulder. “I like your accent. Are you fluent?”

Draco nodded. “Dagmar started teaching me last year. We were already planning on coming to Norway, summer before last. I wanted to work with dragons and she wanted to go into healing, so this seemed like a good choice. The reserve is about a hundred and fifty miles northeast of here, but I just floo up everyday. We thought Norway would be far enough to get away from everything, but close enough to still have relationships with you, Father, and the Ramstads.”

“So much for that, huh?”

Draco looked down at his tea. “Yeah.”

“Erik’s really gone, then?” his mum asked. “I never know when to trust anything Bella says.”

Draco nodded. “Those are his ashes on the mantle inside. We spread a little bit, just in Oslo so far. Erik also wanted some spread at some other places he liked to hike when he was younger. There was Trollveggen, which is about halfway between here and Trondheim, and then some other mountains up by Tromsø. They’re apparently really demanding hikes, so we’re waiting until spring or summer to do those.”

His mum looked inside through the window at the urn. “Oh.”

“Dagmar’s struggled with it a lot.” Draco sighed. “Erik wasn’t her father, hey?”

His mum’s eyebrows rose. “He wasn’t?”

Draco shook his head. “We don’t know who was, but it wasn’t him. Erik’s sister found out by testing them, and that’s why Erik never talked to his family.”

“Hm.” His mum’s surprise waned quickly. “That makes sense, actually. There was this woman that lived on the island. She wasn’t human, some kind of creature—”

“A huldra,” Draco said.

“Oh,” his mum said, before going on. “She communicated with Legilimency or something. She seemed to be really attached to Hildegard. Missed her, maybe. She showed me memories. If I thought about Hildegard, she’d show me memories of her. She had memories of the Dark Lord, even, and Bella. Baby Dagmar yes, but not Erik. He was never there.”

“Hm.” Draco sipped his tea. “Did Aunt Bella say when you’re going back, by the way? _If_ you’re going back?”

His mum shook her head. “She hasn’t said anything, and I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to put the thought into her head that she needs to come up with a date and time. That is, if I’m not imposing.”

“No,” Draco said right away. “I wanted to float something by you, actually. Dagmar and I were talking this week. If Aunt Bella’s okay with it, you could stay here with us when the Dark Lord is ready to move on. It would be one less thing for Aunt Bella to have to worry about. You know how her mind works.”

His mum perked. “You wouldn’t mind that?”

“Are you serious?” Draco scoffed. “I haven’t seen you in over a year, and I had no idea where you were until a week ago. Once you’ve come this close, I’m not letting you get away again.”

Although initially excited, his mum grew quiet. She chewed on her bottom lip. “Bella might not mind. She’s been in a mood ever since she first nabbed me, and always acts like I’m just a burden. I don’t know what the Dark Lord expects of me, is all.”

“Why would he expect anything from you?”

His mum looked back over her shoulder into the cottage, then cleared her throat. “I took his mark.”

Draco’s stomach dropped anew. “Why?”

“I thought it was my only chance at ever getting off the island.” His mum tucked some hair behind her ear. “Before that, I was just Bella’s sister. I was a loose end. If I became a Death Eater, then I was the Dark Lord’s concern. He put me under a Fidelius Charm. Bella must have revealed me to you at some point, because otherwise people can’t see me. They can’t hear me. I’m a ghost. But if the Dark Lord ever needed me to do something for him, he would have to break it.”

Draco couldn’t help but be disappointed. Both he and his mum had been put into positions where they did what they had to, but there were no permanent marks on Draco’s body. The Dark Mark would linger forever.

“It could still be worth asking, if that doesn’t put you off,” his mum said.

“It doesn’t,” Draco replied. “Maybe this weekend if Aunt Bella’s in a good mood, we could bring it up.”

“How come the Dark Lord is using your house as a base?” his mum asked, looking around again. “Did they find that man they were looking for?”

“Aunt Bella killed him.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t have what they were looking for. The Dark Lord came here for Dagmar to treat him,” Draco said. “I haven’t seen him, but apparently he’s in really rough shape. Dagmar’s been working on fixing his heart, and he has chronic nerve pain. I don’t know what the plan is now, if they go back looking, or what.”

“I don’t know either.”

“Dagmar and I aren’t completely opposed to letting the Dark Lord use our home like that,” Draco carefully replied, his heart picking up from nerves at the idea. “It would save him a lot of trips further north if his focus is more on mainland Europe. If you’re here, then he wouldn’t have to go out of his way to go check on you.”

His mum didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure you want to get that involved?”

“We already are.” Draco shrugged. “I mean, what choice do we have but to go along? It’s just easier, and it’s not like it’s interrupted our lives. Only thing different is we’re not inviting company up. It’s easy to say right now that Dagmar needs time and a quiet house for her studying. Aunt Bella lets us both go to work, and Dagmar does what they ask for the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella says he’s been feeling a lot better. That’s worth something, for his favour.”

While Draco spoke, his mum’s face fell until it no longer could. Draco felt bad saying all that to her, but he had to commit fully to appearances while Aunt Bella and You-Know-Who were here. Once they’d moved on—if his mum could stay—then Draco could be more frank with her. Dumbledore could get involved. Mr. Nott could too, if he was willing.

The fireplace whooshed inside. Dagmar was home and looking around. Draco knocked on the window to get her attention. She broke into a broad grin when she locked eyes with Draco’s mum and dropped her bag by the coffee table on the way to the garden door. Draco’s mum stood up. By the time Dagmar came around the side of the cottage, her eyes were bloodshot.

She sniffled as she hugged Draco’s mum as tightly as Draco had. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too.” Draco’s mum pulled back to brush some hair out of Dagmar’s face. “You look so good! Both of you.” She spared a smile back at Draco before taking Dagmar’s left hand. She admired the ring. “It suits you.”

“Ja, I love it.” Dagmar laughed airily. “I’m looking forward to when I get to wear the whole set.”

Draco’s mum sat back down, and Dagmar pulled over one of the chairs from the table. She put it flush with Draco, greeting him with a squeeze of the knee before resting her hand on his forearm.

Dagmar looked between the two of them. “You both must be exhausted.”

“Yeah.” Draco’s mum rubbed her eyes with a chuckle. “I wanted to see you before I laid down, though.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About an hour, or so.”

Dagmar ran her hand through Draco’s hair. “ _You_ definitely need more sleep, then.”

Draco shrugged, even though his eyes were heavy when he blinked. “There are more important things than that, right now.”


	37. Spiral Dynamics

Pansy came to visit Harry in Paris on November’s last Saturday after she got off work. The sun was completely gone by the time they finished eating dinner. Despite being there for two weeks now, Harry had never bothered to explore. His experience of Paris had been much different than any Pansy had as a tourist.

“I thought you said Paris was dirty,” Harry teased her as they walked hand-in-hand along the Seine River.

“Oh, it isn’t?” Pansy bumped into him with her shoulder. “Bit rich coming from someone that’s been crawling around in dusty old mines.”

“Guess you got me there,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know how many showers it’s going to take before I’m completely clean. Every time I come out of the Catacombs, I look like I’m fifty or something from all the dust in my hair.”

Pansy laughed. “Well, I’ll say I feel a little different being here with a man rather than my parents.”

Harry felt different being here with a woman, too. Paris to him was linked intrinsically to Magnus Norheim. It centred around the Ministry. While Harry walked past the Eiffel Tower everyday in a way because of the bewitched windows by the Auror office, he’d barely come above ground otherwise. Harry even started to feel like the view outside his room at the inn was similarly bewitched. Nothing really felt real, anymore.

The cool breeze on Harry’s face, the smell of the river, and Pansy’s hand in his helped concrete him in some sort of place. So too did the mere distance from Place de Furstenberg to Champ de Mars. Harry had to tilt his head back to see the top of the Eiffel Tower, once they reached it.

They got back to the inn close to ten o’clock. As soon as the door to Harry’s room closed, he couldn’t believe he and Pansy had actually managed to do anything other than hide themselves away here. It’d been two weeks since they saw each other. In hindsight, since everything had gone quiet, things had been safe. Harry ached for Pansy after all that time apart. He couldn’t be arsed to dress again after he and Pansy wound up in the bed, and didn’t bother at all until the next morning when they went for breakfast. Other than meals, they were hard-pressed to do much else other than paw at each other under the blanket.

After two solid weeks of uninterrupted work, it was exactly the break Harry needed before heading back down into the Catacombs on Monday morning. He had to wonder, now starting his third week in Paris, just how long this could go on before he and Parasca headed back to London. Harry didn’t want to let himself think like that, though. There was likely a witness somewhere in all the two-hundred miles of tunnels underneath Paris. Kingsley had everything covered back home. Pansy and Ron both confirmed this, aware of the Ministry workers and Order members that prowled Diagon Alley on the lookout for anyone acting strange. There was no better place for Harry to be for the sake of proactivity.

Harry and Parasca met each morning at quarter to nine in the inn’s lobby, and then headed for the Ministry. Marigot would be down in the Ministry’s entry to the Catacombs, waiting for them. She had contacts amongst the vagrants, who acted as guides. On Friday morning, when Harry and Parasca reached the Catacombs, one of the Aurors waved them over.

“Marigot wants to see you up in her office,” he told them. “Says it’s urgent.”

Harry couldn’t think of any other reason than something had given. Best case, Marigot had a vagrant in her office ready to tell them what they saw the night Magnus Norheim was murdered. Worst case, something had happened back home, and Kingsley meant to recall them. Harry was relieved to see that the general mood of the Auror office wasn’t one of panic.

Marigot waved them to the back by the interview rooms. She waited at the mouth of the hallway, leaned against the wall with her arms folded. Marigot smiled and lifted her jaw when they approached.

“Got him,” she said. “He showed up at the Ministry last night. Came in through the visitor entrance. Didn’t want to draw attention to himself if he came to us down in the Catacombs, he says.”

“Has he said anything yet?” Harry asked.

Marigot shook her head. “I told him that since it’s been a few weeks that he should think long and hard about what all he saw. Some details may have slipped away.”

“Would you happen to have a vial handy?” Harry replied, then glanced at Parasca. “We have access to a pensieve. We could just take the memory off him.”

“Somewhere, probably.” Marigot’s eyebrows leapt up with intrigue. “A pensieve, ah? Those are quite rare.”

“Professor Dumbledore has one.”

“Of course.” Marigot’s surprise melted away. “I’ll find one for you. One moment.”

Harry watched her until she disappeared into her office. He wanted to get a good look at this witness, even if it was very unlikely he was recognizable. The name Marigot gave him—Louis Gage—meant nothing to Harry either.

Gage looked nervous when Marigot let them into the interview room. His jaw was set, and his gaze travelled rapidly back and forth between the three of them. Even if he entered the Ministry like a visitor, he didn’t look like he’d been out of the Catacombs for long. Harry couldn’t tell how old he actually was just by looking at him. The dust tended to accentuate every wrinkle in the skin, and turned dark hair grey.

“Parlez-vous anglais, Louis?” Marigot asked him.

He shook his head rapidly. “Non.”

“I’ll explain who you are, then,” Marigot said to Harry and Parasca before slipping back into French.

Gage listened acutely. When Marigot mentioned Harry’s name, Gage stared at him for a long while. His gaze darted up to Harry’s forehead. At the end of what Marigot said, he nodded jerkily and replied at length in French. Harry’s interest leapt when, even with Gage’s rapid dialogue and Parisian accent, a name was clear: Bellatrix Lestrange.

“He agrees to give you the memory,” Marigot told them. “I take it you heard the name of who he says the murderer was?”

“Mhm.” Magnus would be just one more name to add to the list of Bellatrix Lestrange’s victims.

“She wasn’t alone,” Marigot said. “There was another woman with her. He says he recognized Bellatrix. That’s why he froze Norheim. It’s also why he’s been hiding. Bellatrix Lestrange is notorious, even here. He knows what she’s capable of.”

“Well, make sure you thank Louis for coming forward.” Harry opened the vial. “Does he know how to do this?”

Once Gage relaxed enough, Harry was drawing the silver strand out of his temple. He very carefully pooled it in the vial and put the stopper back in place. Gage calmed down, at least enough to sip the untouched coffee in front of him.

“Hope it’s not rude of us to skip out,” Harry said to Marigot outside the interrogation room. “We’ll let you know what we find.”

“Can’t wait.”

Harry led Parasca out of the Auror office. She had to pull up into a light jog to keep up with his quick strides.

“Do you even want to bother packing up our rooms at the inn before going back to Britain?” Harry asked.

“Nu,” she replied right away. “Let’s deal with this first. It might already be a challenge to catch Dumbledore, although I have a feeling he’ll make time for us.”

Harry and Parasca left for Paris’  Station Grand Floo. They passed through the British Ministry to Hogsmeade Station.

“We won’t get into Hogwarts just by walking up,” Parasca told Harry. “We’ll have to send Dumbledore an owl first.”

They stopped in at the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta lit up to see Harry. She insisted that he and Parasca take a seat and chat while they waited for a reply. Harry wasn’t halfway through a butterbeer when the owl came back, Dumbledore stating he would meet them at the front gate. With that, Harry and Parasca were off again.

Dumbledore was still on his way down the drive. Harry tried to be patient as he and Parasca waited, but not until Dumbledore came closer did it become apparent he was moving much faster than his preferred leisurely pace. Dumbledore’s expression was set.

“It was Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry said as they headed back up toward the castle. “She wasn’t alone. I’m hoping to confirm whether or not they found the phylactery. Given the lack of activity lately, it’s kind of up in the air.”

Dumbledore nodded, but didn’t have much to say. The castle corridors were empty as they headed up toward Dumbledore’s office, spare a couple NEWT students. They greeted Parasca, and looked at Harry with intrigue.

The gargoyles hiding Dumbledore’s office leapt aside. At the top of the stairs, Dumbledore wasted no time in bringing his pensieve out of the cabinet. Soon enough, the three of them were floating down.

They landed in equal darkness. Harry’s familiarness with the Catacombs felt foreign to him now, even though he stood in a section of it that he’d seen pretty much everyday for the last three weeks. He couldn’t smell, taste, or feel the dust.

Although it was dark, there was wandlight coming out of the room ahead. Harry jumped a little at sound directly to his left. Careful footsteps shuffled against the ground, and someone breathed as if they’d just ran a mile. It had to be Gage.

Low voices carried down the passage. As Gage slowly neared, Harry grew impatient. He understood completely why Gage was going at a snail’s pace, but it wasn’t conducive to Harry’s investigation at all.

One of the voices coming from the room Gage snuck up on—the one Magnus had been discovered in—ramped up into an angry shriek. Harry recognized it as Bellatrix Lestrange, but couldn’t pick out what she was saying. He looked at Parasca and Dumbledore to see if they were having similar issues.

Dumbledore leaned down toward Harry. “The witness doesn’t speak English, does he?”

Harry’s heart sunk as he realized why everything sounded so garbled. “No.”

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Gage’s breathing ramped up with his fear, audible only to Harry in tandem with Magnus’ screams. There was something else too, in the mix. Harry turned his head, craning his ear, as Magnus’ screams let off into gasps of pain.

“Stop,” someone else said as she cried, the word simple enough in English for Gage to have understood. “Stop.”

Bellatrix went off again, Harry figured toward whoever had accompanied her here. More crying sounded from the room, escalating along with Bellatrix’s yelling.

Eventually, Bellatrix tapered off. They were close enough now that Harry could hear her breathing like an angry rhino. Whoever was with her sobbed, breath hitching when they inhaled and coming like a whine when they exhaled. There was something familiar about it, Harry thought, but he couldn’t be completely sure. He wished Gage would get close enough to see, but—Harry now realized—Gage had never said anything about seeing the face of Bellatrix’s companion.

Bellatrix spoke again, this time in a lower tone. While she did, her companion started pleading with her. ‘No’ was clear enough across languages, so was ‘please’. Harry grimaced. Had there been two murders down here, by chance?

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

The room flashed green, and then fell silent. Harry listened carefully, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure he was relieved when the crying started again.

“ _Stop,_ ” Bellatrix said, sounding annoyed.

Gage was having a hard time keeping himself quiet. He seemed to realize that, with a murder, Bellatrix would be moving on soon. He pulled a wand out of his pocket and tapped himself on the head. Harry might have thought it was a strange way to disapparate if he hadn’t been subjected to a Disillusionment Charm before.

There was rustling coming from the room, along with the _fwump_ of things hitting the ground. Harry figured that was Bellatrix strewing all of Magnus’ things about while she searched for the locket. Harry could still hear crying. Eventually, Bellatrix snapped again. The light shifted in the room as one of them approached the exit.

Sniffling, Dagmar stepped out.

Harry might as well have become a floating head, to see her. His body went numb, his stomach disappeared, and his lungs refused to draw air. Harry’s brain stopped too, leaving him as just a floating pair of eyeballs fit to watch her slump against the wall and sob. Dagmar extinguished the tip of her wand, plunging her into shadow.

“Dagmar,” Bellatrix snapped her name from inside. Dagmar started, sniffling and wiping at her face again. “Come here.”

Looking like she picked up her entire weight, Dagmar straightened back up. She smoothed her dusty Healer uniform down.

“What?” she glumly asked Bellatrix inside.

Bellatrix’s voice evened back out, all hint of her earlier anger gone. Harry listened carefully to her tone. It wasn’t one of triumph. Bellatrix sighed instead, and then there was a pop in the room. Everything went dark.

Harry thought the memory would end there, but light appeared again beside him. Gage was visible again, trembling and uncertain of himself. His heavy breaths echoed in the passage as he approached the now-empty room. It only worsened as he looked over freshly-dead Magnus. After Gage encased him in ice, Harry floated back up to Dumbledore’s office.

He kind of wanted to throw up. A weird type of defensiveness manifested like a shield in Harry’s chest. He didn’t want to believe that Dagmar had been involved in that. It didn’t matter how upset she was. Anyone would be after witnessing someone be tortured and murdered. What did it mean? Harry wished that Gage could understand what Dagmar and Bellatrix were saying to each other.

“So, erm. . .” he broke the silence that fell over Dumbledore’s office. Neither Dumbledore or Parasca looked like they knew what to say either. Both were thinking hard.

“When’s the last time either of you spoke to Dagmar?” Dumbledore asked.

“Erm. . .” Harry had to think. “I talked to Malfoy the weekend after Magnus was killed. He told me that he took some stuff up to the dragon reserve. His letters from his mum, the messenger he shares with Andromeda and Ted, and then ours. He said he’d check it everyday, or let me know if he heard or saw anything up there.”

“What about Dagmar specifically?”

“Not for about a month, or so,” Harry said. “She told me she got the Ramstad family bible. She found who she thought was her mum in it. I’d visited them the day before, on Halloween. I told them everything Hildegard told me about being a lich. Dagmar was starting to study for her exams, she said.”

Dumbledore and Parasca exchanged a glance. Harry started to feel really stupid. He stood in front of the head of the Order of the Phoenix and an ex-Head Auror. Similarly, Harry stood in front of his old Headmaster and the last Defence Against the Dark Arts professor he’d ever had. If Dagmar was a double-agent—Harry couldn’t even bring himself to think it. Could he have been fooled? What if he was? What if, like Snape had done to Voldemort all this time, Dagmar and Malfoy had managed in turn? Was that really something they needed to consider now as a possibility? Harry’s nausea worsened.

On his way toward his desk, Dumbledore conjured two chairs in front of it. Harry moved toward them on leaden legs that refused to cooperate with him.

Dumbledore had a messenger on his desk. He opened it and dipped a quill in some ink. “I’ll arrange for us to meet with Kingsley in a little while.”

Parasca crossed her legs in the chair beside Harry. “We also told Elodie Marigot we would inform her of what we saw in Louis Gage’s memory.”

“I’ll mention that to Kingsley,” Dumbledore said. “We ought to discuss the memory before you two return to London. I won’t be too far behind you.”

“What do we do?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “There are two possibilities, neither of which is a good one. The first, that Dagmar was taken to Paris against her will. She was very clearly upset. The fact that she wore her Healer uniform tells me that she may have gone there directly from the hospital. I already thought that if the Death Eaters managed to track Dagmar and Draco to Bergen, it would be through Olaf Kyrre. I warned Dagmar of that two days _after_ the memory we just saw would’ve happened. She and Draco didn’t seem concerned.”

“What did they say?”

“Since it was confirmed the Death Eaters had been active in Paris, they felt safe being so far away,” Dumbledore said. “Bergen is eight-hundred miles from Paris, as the owl flies. Were it not for the fact we just saw Dagmar in the Paris Catacombs, I would’ve agreed that Dagmar and Draco were well enough removed.”

“You talked to Dagmar and Malfoy _after_ Magnus was killed,” Harry repeated. “Face to face, right? Were there any signs at all that Dagmar had been involved in this? Any behaviour changes?”

“No.”

“Did they look surprised that Magnus was dead when you told them?”

Dumbledore paused. “Not exactly. I think they could understand that for us three to meet, something crucial had happened. I recommended they remain vigilant, and possibly put their home underneath a Fidelius Charm. They didn’t want to. Dagmar said that if Voldemort or any of the Death Eaters were going to go to them for whatever reason, she didn’t want them trying to find her and Draco through their workplaces or acquaintances.”

“Bit late for that.” Harry scratched his forehead.

“It’s possible Dagmar’s memory was modified afterward,” Dumbledore said.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. “Still. . .why? Why would Bellatrix grab Dagmar from the Bergen hospital and take her to Paris? Like you said, it’s eight-hundred miles. Wouldn’t she have at least noticed missing time? If she was at work, _they_ would’ve noticed her missing. She has a mentor, or whatever. She has patients. She’s not allowed to be by herself when she’s doing practicum hours.”

“Perhaps Bellatrix could’ve grabbed her at the end of her workday?” Parasca suggested.

“What about Malfoy? He wouldn’t have noticed her not come home?” Harry hesitated. “Well, maybe not, if he was working evening shift at the time. Or he was in on it.”

“But then why was Dagmar in her Healer uniform?” Parasca replied.

“They must’ve gone from the hospital then, but why would Bellatrix take her?”

“I’m not sure this discussion will get us anywhere,” Dumbledore said after they all fell into pensive silence. “These are details we can sort out later. It needs to be addressed. It needs to be discussed with Dagmar, and possibly Draco. If Dagmar is completely innocent, we need to clear that up. We also need to take protective measures for them. I admit that right now, I’m not sure what that might look like. Dagmar’s workplace is compromised, and Bellatrix would know now to reach her through there. We can’t ask Dagmar to stop working, or to stop her Healer training. It’s more likely she will insist that she and Draco go along with anything the Death Eaters want as a means of self-preservation and to potentially infiltrate them.”

“Could _that_ be what happened?” Harry asked. “Why Dagmar went with Bellatrix? She was just. . .going along, doing what Bellatrix said?”

The question still remained as to just what that was. It could be that Bellatrix had known for a while where Magnus hid, but she needed Dagmar for some reason. Dagmar could’ve been used as a guilt trip or something, but why would Dagmar agree to go if it meant Voldemort got Slytherin’s locket back? Unless she was just doing exactly what she said she would by going along.

“The locket,” Harry said, as it occurred to him. “It didn’t look to me like Bellatrix found it. I think she’d’ve been wetting her knickers with glee if she had.”

“Maybe Magnus _did_ destroy it,” Parasca suggested.

Well, there was potentially one good thing to come out of all this. Harry looked back and forth between Dumbledore and Parasca again. “So what should we do?”

“Discuss it with Kingsley,” Dumbledore told them. “This isn’t a call I can make. He replied saying he’s coming up with a plan. Whatever happens, I’ll be at Malfoy Manor later. We will need to touch base.”

“Right.” Harry stood. “I guess we might as well go.”

Parasca agreed, which set them off. It was just coming up on noon when Harry and Parasca walked into the London Auror office. Kingsley immediately waved them over.

“What did Dumbledore tell you?” Harry asked when the three of them were closed inside Kingsley’s office.

“That Dagmar was with Bellatrix when Magnus was killed.” Kingsley folded his arms. “So what’s the long version of that?”

Harry tried to stay objective in his recount, but it was hard. Kingsley didn’t seem able to decide what way to go on that, either. He rested his bum on the edge of his desk, head bowed and arms tightly folded as he thought.

“It’s Friday,” he finally said. “Neither Dagmar or Draco work today, do they?”

Harry shook his head. “Malfoy has them off, and Dagmar would’ve just finished her exams yesterday.”

“Draco’s messenger is at the reserve, yes?”

Harry nodded.

“So we couldn’t reach them through that until Sunday,” Kingsley said. “I don’t think this is something that could wait that long. It can’t wait at _all_ , which makes me hesitate to even bother with an owl. Whether they’re in danger or involved, we need to talk to them.”

“Go there, you mean?” Harry asked.

Kingsley nodded. “I’ll assemble a team.”

“Wait, a team?” Harry replied. “What for?”

“Clearance and guard,” Kingsley said before leaving his office.

Harry looked at Parasca instead. “What’s he mean?”

“Clear the property, and then act as guard while we talk with Dagmar and Draco,” Parasca explained. “Similarly to what we saw in Kingsley’s memory when he visited Hildegard and Erik. Bad example, given what happened, but protocol. We don’t want to be caught by surprise.”

“From what?”

“Anything. We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

Mention of Hildegard and Erik made Harry nervous. That was a very bad day for this office. Surely it couldn’t happen again, but Parasca was right. They all had no idea what waited for them in Bergen. What if Dagmar and Malfoy had been double-agents all this time? Would the Order come back from that? Would Harry? How would he ever trust his own judgement again after being so thoroughly fooled?

Harry _really_ hoped that wasn’t what happened. Best case scenario, Dagmar and Malfoy would both be completely unaware that Dagmar was involved in Magnus’ murder. Maybe it would shake them both enough to accept Dumbledore’s idea of them needing some kind of protection. Even then, Harry couldn’t see Dagmar and Malfoy accepting it. They were both entrenched in Norway. They had jobs they’d worked hard to get, had a broad social circle, and Dagmar had an extensive family. What would it take to give it up for the sake of personal safety? Would they be okay to continue leaving themselves vulnerable to Voldemort and his Death Eaters? Memory modification and potentially the Imperius Curse would give them little to no control over any situation that might arise.

Kingsley returned. “All right, I have six volunteers. That should be enough.”

Rather shakily, Harry followed Kingsley back out to the Auror office. The volunteers he mentioned were getting themselves together. A couple waited out in the corridor. Harry joined them, hiding his nerves when he saw how calm and serious they all were. Parasca was the same way.

When they were all ready, Kingsley led them toward the magical enforcement’s floo area. They went straight through there to the Ministry in Bergen. The Norwegian Auror office came to a standstill when Kingsley’s company filed in. They all lowered their guard when the Head Auror, a tall man with an impressive beard, addressed Kingsley. Harry tried to hear what the two of them said, but they kept to whispers. The Norwegian Head Auror nodded along, twirling a part of his beard. He gestured slightly at the office, to which Kingsley raised a hand and shook his head. Kingsley jerked his head back at Harry and the other British Aurors. The Norwegian Head Auror nodded again.

Kingsley returned. “He’s going to lend us brooms. Harry, you know where Dagmar and Draco live, right?”

“Er, yeah.” Harry nodded jerkily.

They all migrated back out into the hallway to wait. Harry’s tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth as he accepted his broom. The Head Auror pointed them toward the fireplaces again, saying that one would take them up to the surface. Wind and rain immediately hit Harry, along with the smell of the sea. They were standing on a ship, out on the bay.

“Right.” Kingsley turned to Harry when they were all there. “Where are we going, then?”

Harry moved over to the ship’s side to get a better look around. The city of Bergen was southwest of Dagmar and Malfoy’s cottage, so Harry made his best guess when he pointed at the mountains to the left. “Somewhere up there.”

It’d been a while since Harry flew, he realized as he swung a leg over the Cleansweep. It didn’t help his general shakiness. He didn’t feel good about this. Harry wanted to believe that Dagmar and Malfoy had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Even though it was raining, some sunlight managed to reflect off the cottage windows. It drew them all in. Other Aurors in the company drew their wands as they neared the ground, so Harry followed suit. He touched down in the garden, looking around like the rest of them. The yard was quiet—peaceful.

“You two stay out here,” Kingsley pointed at a couple, who nodded. “You’ll clear the grounds once the cottage has been. Rest of you, with me.”

They approached the garden door. Before they made it to the bottom of the steps, the door opened. Harry’s heart pounded against his rib cage as Malfoy looked at them all. His lips were parted, brow furrowed. He blinked. His gaze stuck to Harry.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Happy to explain, but we need to clear the cottage first,” Kingsley told him. “Standard procedure.”

Malfoy just blinked again. “For what?”

“We need to clear the cottage,” Kingsley repeated. “Any problem with that?”

“I. . .” Malfoy’s mind seemed stuck in neutral. He looked at Harry again, perhaps for an explanation. “What?”

Kingsley exhaled through his nose, the only thing about his composure that gave away his impatience to Harry. “Draco, something came up in the investigation of Magnus Norheim’s death that involves Dagmar. We need to speak to both of you. Before we do that, we must ensure that the two of you are alone. Step aside.”

With one more blink, Malfoy at least seemed to jog into some sort of gear when given instructions. Kingsley held his wand ahead of him as he entered the cottage. When Harry came in behind, he saw Dagmar straight ahead in the kitchen. She stared back at them much the same way Malfoy had. The cottage smelled like freshly baked bread.

“You two, upstairs. You, downstairs,” Kingsley directed the two other Aurors they’d brought along. “Draco, come inside.”

Once Malfoy had, Kingsley closed the door. Malfoy’s cheeks were tinged pink, and he still looked completely confused. So did Dagmar.

“What’s going on?” she asked, voice slightly trembling.

“Come here,” Kingsley told her with a wave. Dagmar obeyed, passing by Harry to stand beside Malfoy. “This is likely completely unnecessary, but I will need you two to forfeit your wands. I will also be casting Holding Charms on you.”

“Holding—?” Dagmar looked taken aback. “Like we’re being arrested?”

“It’s protocol,” Kingsley said again. “When we’re able to discuss everything after the cottage has been cleared, you’ll understand why.”

“I guess we don’t have a choice, do we?” Dagmar asked.

“No, you don’t.”

Shaken, Malfoy and Dagmar handed their wands over to Kingsley. Dagmar pressed up more against Malfoy and took his hand. Kingsley cast the Holding Charms, which would keep them from disapparating or using a floo connection.

Kingsley then turned to Parasca. “We’ll clear the main floor. Harry, stay here.”

Harry just nodded. He watched Parasca head into the hallway and Kingsley peer into the kitchen before following her.

“Potter,” Malfoy whispered at him. “What’s going on?”

To that, Harry gave his head a half-shake. He didn’t know what to say. He felt like he owed some sort of explanation to Malfoy and Dagmar—or like he should tell them it would be okay—but he had to try and stay impartial.

Doors opened and closed throughout the cottage. The Aurors that had gone downstairs came up, yelling out that the lower floor was clear. The ones upstairs did the same thing. Kingsley and Parasca returned from the back of the main floor.

“Here too.” Kingsley sounded relieved. “What about the grounds?”

“Er, no word yet,” Harry said.

Kingsley nodded and went outside. With the cottage clear, Malfoy and Dagmar relaxed a bit. Harry figured that being burst in on like that maybe could’ve made them wonder if they _weren’t_ home alone, after all.

There was some yelling outside, and then Kingsley came back in. The tension he’d arrived with evaporated for the most part. He sighed.

“Okay,” he said under his breath. “We’re good.”

“Can we know what’s going on, then?” Dagmar quietly asked.

Kingsley nodded, then looked at the rest of the Aurors that had come up with them. “Stand guard outside. I’ll call if we need you.”

They filed out. With their exit, Harry too felt more capable of relaxation. They at least weren’t coming into a hot situation. Only Dagmar and Malfoy were here. They didn’t have their wands and couldn’t leave by magical means. Whatever had happened in Paris and whatever their loyalty, it would all be sorted out now.

Dagmar’s eyes were rimmed red. “What’s happening? Why are you here?”

“We all need to have a little talk.” Kingsley gestured toward the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

Malfoy nodded jerkily and led Dagmar over. They sat together on the love seat in front of the window, sides pressed, as Harry and Kingsley took the couch. Parasca sat down in the chair, turning in it to better face the love seat. Behind Dagmar and Malfoy, curtains of rain fell on the bay. The fireplace was cozy, and Harry was sure that his mouth would be watering from the smell of Dagmar’s baking had he any sort of appetite.

“As you’re both aware, we’ve been collaborating with the French Auror office in investigating Magnus Norheim’s murder,” Kingsley told them. “The witness came forward in Paris this morning.”

Dagmar blinked. “Witness?”

“Yes, there was a witness,” Kingsley replied. “That’s why Magnus was found encased in ice.”

Dagmar and Malfoy looked at each other.

“Nobody told you that?” Harry asked. He realized then that he himself hadn’t.

Malfoy shook his head. “No, nobody told us.”

“We took the memory off the witness,” Kingsley said. “Harry, Kat, and Dumbledore visited it in the Hogwarts pensieve. It’s probably no surprise to either of you that Magnus was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. Thing is, she wasn’t alone. _You_ were there, Dagmar.”

Harry watched her closely. She stared at Kingsley, and Harry hated that she was so hard to read. Was she too surprised to react, or did she know enough about the situation beforehand to brace herself?

“I. . .” she finally replied to the quiet room. “What?”

“Can you explain that?” Kingsley asked.

“How could I have been—Paris must be at least five-hundred miles away.”

“Eight-hundred,” Kingsley corrected her. He looked at Malfoy. “What shift were you working on November eleventh?”

“Er. . .” Malfoy furrowed his brow. “I’m just starting dayshift on Sunday. I just did two weeks of nights.”

“So evening shift, before that?”

“Yeah.”

“That means you’re up at the reserve from four PM to midnight, correct?”

Malfoy nodded.

Kingsley looked back at Dagmar. “I’m inclined to believe you may not have any memory of the incident. You were wearing your Healer uniform in the memory, which to me indicates you may have left with Bellatrix from the hospital. Do you have any memory of having lost hours? Time that you can’t account for passing?”

Dagmar trembled, reminding Harry of Hildegard in Kingsley’s memory when he’d confronted the Ramstads. “Ja.”

“What do you remember?”

“Erm. . .” Dagmar leaned forward over her knees, forehead in her hands. Malfoy rubbed her back. “I stayed late at the hospital because a woman in my clinic had a baby. Then. . .I don’t know. I thought I just lost track of time.”

“You don’t remember anything at all?” Harry asked.

Dagmar shook her head.

“No idea why Bellatrix would take you to Paris?” Kingsley asked.

“Nei.”

Kingsley leaned forward over his knees with his hands clasped together. “You both must realize how bad this is. If Bellatrix took you from the hospital, Dagmar, that means that she knows you live in Bergen. It’s only a matter of time until she finds your home. Dumbledore said he spoke to you before about how to handle Voldemort or any of the Death Eaters showing up here. We’re planning on meeting him later on at Malfoy Manor. You had better come so that we can discuss this scenario more fully.”

Dagmar and Malfoy stared at Kingsley, wide-eyed and unreadable. Malfoy shook his head nearly imperceptibly.

Harry frowned. “Dumbledore said you talked about that.”

“No he didn’t,” Malfoy said.

“He literally just said this—”

“Potter,” Malfoy hissed under his breath. “ _Shut up_.”

“No,” a silky voice came from the loft up behind Harry. Harry turned around in his seat and felt all the colour drain from his face. Bellatrix Lestrange stood up there, chin braced as she leaned over the rail. The Dark Mark on her left forearm was black, and Bellatrix’s grin wide. “ _Do_ go on.”

Her gaze shifted to the right, toward the garden. While Kingsley and Parasca jumped up from their seats, wands drawn, Harry’s delay allowed him to hear screams from outside. Bellatrix moved quickly out of the way as Kingsley shot his first spell up at her. Manic giggling followed, and Harry just about fell over the coffee table when he backed into it. He thought he heard Dagmar make some kind of noise behind him. Harry saw her and Malfoy moving out the corner of his eye.

They tried to skirt around the dining room table, but Harry shot a Stunning Spell at them. Harry’s spell hit the sliding kitchen door, blowing it out with a clatter of glass. Malfoy pulled Dagmar back away from it, just as the front windows of the cottage similarly buckled from one of Bellatrix’s spells. The rain was blown in from the wayward wind. Malfoy and Dagmar pressed themselves back against the corner between the front windows and the door, petrified in place.

Bellatrix paid Harry no mind, unable to even if she wanted to, while repelling and dodging curses sent her way by Kingsley and Parasca. Harry could hear yelling outside. More Death Eaters? Where should he go? Where should he focus?

The garden door opened. Harry looked at it and, like earlier today, he felt like a floating pair of eyeballs. Scarlet, predatory eyes drilled into Harry from underneath a black hood. Voldemort was coming toward him. The same yew wand that had been pointed at Harry so many times before was rising from Voldemort’s side.

Ron’s voice wafted up from the back of Harry’s mind: _don’t hesitate_. At the same time, Malfoy shouted behind him, “Potter, no! _Potter!_ ”

Calmness draped over Harry. The time had come. If he _did_ hesitate, there were a lot of people he wouldn’t be going home to.

Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at Voldemort. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Green light shot across the living room. It hit Voldemort square in the chest, sending him back. There was a ripping sound, almost like a rubber band pulled taut and then released. Something collided with Harry from the right, sending him onto the floor between the coffee table and love seat. His wand clattered away. His glasses tried, but they got caught on one ear. Harry twisted, preparing to struggle, but Malfoy was still standing. He had his back to Harry.

Harry pushed himself upright. Kingsley and Parasca were still going at it with Bellatrix. Harry lunged for Malfoy’s ankle when he took a step forward. Malfoy tried to pull himself free. It offset his balance. The air was forced from his lungs as he hit the floor.

Shaking, Harry pressed Malfoy down between the shoulders when he tried, wheezing, to push himself up. Malfoy struggled to catch his breath, and Harry saw blood on the floor underneath Malfoy’s face. Malfoy reached toward Dagmar.

Harry looked up. His breath stopped again. Dagmar was slumped down awkwardly in the corner, eyes open and arms limp at her sides. She didn’t react to the rain that blew in on her.

“Harry!” Kingsley yelled behind him. “Get out of here!”

There was so much chaos, Harry had no idea how he’d ever focus enough to do that. Doing his best anyway, Harry wiped everything from his mind—Voldemort dead, Dagmar dead, surrounded by Death Eaters—and pictured as clearly as he could the first place he thought of: Malfoy Manor. Harry had to get to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know what to do. He might even know how to fix this.

Quietness in Harry’s mind mirrored outside of it. Harry opened his eyes. He was in the dim, quiet great room of Malfoy Manor. Movement and muffled noise underneath Harry startled him. Malfoy had come along. Harry got off Malfoy, falling onto his side.

Malfoy remained flush to the floor. He struggled to breathe. Harry figured he must have knocked the wind out of him, but a sharp inhale challenged that. Harry’s arms struggled to hold his weight up as the adrenaline bled out of him.

Blood dripped from Malfoy’s nose onto the hardwood floor. Malfoy didn’t seem to care that he was smearing it all over his face. As Harry crashed emotionally, he reeled with nausea. He managed to crawl a little ways away from Malfoy before retching. As Harry gasped, eyes burning, Malfoy’s harsh sobs behind him filled in the gaps of noise.

Harry shakily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had no idea what to feel, nor did his body. His heart raced on as if things were still happening, but something like a weight laid over his chest. He’d killed Voldemort. He’d _killed Voldemort_. The words—the reality—wouldn’t sink in.

“Malfoy,” Harry weakly said.

He had no idea what to say other than just acknowledge him. Dagmar was really dead? She couldn’t be. Bellatrix was the only one up on the loft, and all her curses were directed toward Kingsley and Parasca. No—Dagmar was probably just stunned. She must have got hit from somewhere else. Would Bellatrix have even meant her harm? Why was Bellatrix there? If it was a trap, why didn’t Malfoy or Dagmar tell them?

“Draco.” Harry tried a different approach to get Malfoy’s attention, louder and with more certainty this time. “Don’t panic. She’s fine.”

Malfoy shook his head, back racking. The floor under his face was wet with a mix of blood, snot, and to a lesser extent tears.

“She’s fine,” Harry repeated. “Kingsley or someone will grab her.”

“No,” Malfoy managed. “I saw it.”

Harry’s arm that propped him up shook, threatening to give out. But, he’d just seen her. He sat with her in her living room. Dagmar was in the middle of baking bread. People like that didn’t die. They certainly didn’t get murdered, whether on purpose or by accident.

Malfoy pushed himself up off the floor. He had more strength in him than Harry to be able to do that right now. Harry stared at Malfoy as he got to his feet. Blood was smeared around his lower face, mostly his upper lip and the tip of his nose. More than tears, rage lit Malfoy’s eyes.

“Why did you come?” he demanded. “Why did you have to show up like that? We had it all under control!”

“Had _what_ under control?” Harry asked.

Malfoy waved his hand, but Harry had no idea what that meant. “You killed her, you fucking prat. You killed her!”

“No I didn’t.” Defensiveness rose in Harry’s chest. “I killed. . .”

“Yeah, and you killed _her!_ ” Malfoy roared.

“No I didn’t!” Harry yelled right back. “Are you blind? I wasn’t even pointing my wand—”

Harry cut himself off, eyes widening as he scrambled backward. He lifted an arm and caught the first of Malfoy’s punches, but the second one connected with his cheek. Harry scrambled again. Maybe because Malfoy was so unfocused, Harry managed to get away and leap to his feet.

One eye blurred and jaw aching, Harry put up his hands. “Stop!”

“You killed her!” Malfoy’s throat sounded torn.

“I DIDN’T KILL HER!” Harry roared back.

“YES YOU DID!”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

Malfoy advanced on Harry again. Harry put up a fist of his own. It didn’t deter Malfoy, so Harry turned tail. Instinct from years of escaping Dudley kicked in. Harry ducked underneath Malfoy’s arm, dodged the pile of sick he’d made earlier, and beelined for the foyer while trying to remember the layout of Malfoy Manor. Harry didn’t want to corner himself. With no wands between them, all things came down to motivation between Harry and Malfoy. If Malfoy really thought Harry killed Dagmar, then yeah, he was motivated.

Harry didn’t think he had enough of a head start to make it up the stairs. He debated between the front door and the library, and turned left into the library when he saw the doors open. Laughter sounded behind Harry from Abraxas Malfoy’s portrait.

Thankfully, the other library door was open. Harry flung it shut behind him in attempt to slow Malfoy and took that moment to glance in the drawing room. It was empty. Dumbledore hadn’t arrived yet. Harry ran down the hallway back toward the great room and carried on past. He didn’t want to get stuck in Lucius Malfoy’s office or the owlery. He turned right this time into the dining room, dodging Malfoy, and ran around into the great room again. As he tried for the foyer, Malfoy appeared in the hallway between.

“Malfoy, stop!” Harry tried again.

Malfoy ran at him. Harry couldn’t keep this up. He was already short of breath, and Malfoy was running on a potent combination of rage and grief. He wouldn’t stop until Harry looked the same way as Dagmar.

Thinking fast, Harry side-stepped Malfoy when he tried to grab him. He gripped Malfoy’s upper arm. They moved through oppressive darkness again, apparating, and Harry set off as soon as they arrived at the private magical enforcement ports. Harry half-expected Malfoy to realize where he was and to calm down, but he still took chase. His footsteps sounded increasingly louder behind Harry. Harry figured if he didn’t turn into the Auror office, Malfoy would’ve caught him by the scruff of his shirt.

The Aurors on-shift were already looking at the doorway when Harry came in. A couple stood up. The rest stared. Standing next to the nearest cubicles, Harry tried to catch his breath. Malfoy stood just inside the Auror office, eyes wide. Sense seemed to bleed back in as multiple wands pointed at him.

“Stop,” Harry managed between draws of air.

Malfoy’s face fell again. Harry almost wished he was still pissed off. That was easier to look at than such a miserable form of betrayal. Eyes shining, Malfoy looked around at the Aurors.

“You killed her,” he said again, tone flat.

“No, I _didn’t_ ,” Harry asserted. “You need to get off that, Malfoy. I _didn’t kill her_.”

“What’s going on?” Dawlish asked. “Potter, what happened? Where’s Kingsley and the rest that went with you?”

“Still there,” Harry said. “We got ambushed. They were waiting for us.”

“Who?”

“Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, dunno who else.” Harry looked back at Malfoy. “Who else was at your house?”

“I—” Malfoy’s cheeks tinged pink, his eyes widening. “It’s not what it looks like. It was the plan we made with Dumbledore. He told us, he said it was okay to go along if they showed up. You could ask him—but you already know! You said so!”

Harry pressed his lips together, heart pounding with awareness that every set of eyes in the Auror office was currently on him. His mind raced, trying to reconcile everything that had happened.

“Yeah, maybe you were just going along,” Harry said, “but who with?”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for Malfoy’s face to fall any further. His eyes widened with panic. “Potter, come on, you know me better than that.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

Savage piped up: “Are you saying he was harbouring You-Know-Who at his house?”

“Potter,” Malfoy pleaded, “tell them it’s not true. I need to talk to Dumbledore, I need to explain—”

“Dumbledore doesn’t work in magical enforcement,” Dawlish said, stepping forward. “He’s not an Auror. Did you or did you not harbour He Who Must Not Be Named in your home?”

“I had no choice.” Malfoy started to tremble. “We had no choice.”

“That’s above the pay grade of this office to decide,” Proudfoot advanced on Malfoy’s other side, wand pointed at him. “That’ll be for the Council of Magical Law.”

“The—? _No!_ ”

Malfoy tried to run out of the office, but Dawlish and Proudfoot were too quick. One hit him with a spurt of a charm that set Malfoy off his balance. In that split-second, Dawlish and Proudfoot grabbed him by the arms. They pulled Malfoy out of sight, back down the corridor where Harry had led them in from. Every pleading scream of his name from Malfoy struck the very fibres that kept Harry upright. Eventually, the pleading faded away.

Another team of Aurors ran out of the office, intent for Norway. Williamson, whose cubicle Harry had stopped at, sighed. “What happened, Potter?”

Harry trembled so badly his teeth nearly chattered. “Voldemort is dead.”

“You’re sure?”

Harry had to force his head to move so that he could nod. He couldn’t look at Williamson when he stood up.

“Go home,” Williamson told him. “We’ll let Kingsley know where you are when he gets back.”

“Okay.”

That was what Harry needed: someone to tell him what to do. Harry had to consciously unclench his hand from where it gripped the edge of the cubicle. Robotically, he headed for the lifts. He didn’t even remember the ride down to the Atrium. He stood in line for the floo departures. When it came to his turn, he stepped out of the fireplace into Grimmauld Place’s parlour.

Grimmauld Place was completely and utterly silent. Harry’s legs took on a mind of their own, carrying him up the stairs to his room. Just as mechanically, Harry removed his watch and undressed. He crawled into bed, unsure how he’d fall asleep. And yet, he managed it immediately.


	38. Voldemort's Phylactery

Narcissa sat on the floor of the loft library with her knees drawn up against her, eyes clenched shut, and hands held over her ears. While she couldn’t see anything, she could still hear Bella and feel the floor shake.

Everything stilled. Narcissa continued to tremble, dread set like a rock in her stomach. Please, just let Draco and Dagmar be okay. They were down there somewhere in all that mess. Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken their wands away, so what could they even use to defend themselves if they got stuck between Bella and someone else?

Narcissa jumped when something touched her shoulder. She lifted her head, eyes wide. Bella stood in front of her, looking solemn.

“It’s over,” Bella said. “Shacklebolt ran.”

It was with uncertain legs that Narcissa stood back up. “Is everyone okay?”

“No.”

Narcissa’s eyes welled up immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

Bella’s face was long. Narcissa couldn’t even stand to look at her. Immediately winded, she ran down the stairs. As she neared the corner landing next to the ajar garden door, Narcissa came to a halt.

Sprawled prostrate in the foyer was the Dark Lord. His scarlet eyes stared unblinking up at the ceiling. Three other Death Eaters stood over him, still robed and masked. Narcissa’s gaze was fixed on the Dark Lord as she numbly passed the agape garden door by.

Narcissa felt her stomach plummet when she saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind the couch. Heart pounding, Narcissa rushed past the Dark Lord’s body. Immense relief—if it could really be called that—flooded Narcissa to see that the feet didn’t belong to Draco or Dagmar. It was the woman that Potter and Shacklebolt had arrived with.

Narcissa looked over in the dining room. The air was pulled from her lungs as everything went blurry again. Narcissa blinked her tears away, breath caught in her throat. Dagmar slumped against the wall. Her body was already drenched from the rain coming in through the broken windows. The wind howled as it wrapped around the window frames.

“No,” Narcissa whispered, inhales shallow as she practically floated over. “No.”

Dagmar’s eyes were glassy and wide, as if she’d seen what was coming in the last moment. Uncaring about the glass on the floor, Narcissa lowered herself to her knees. If Dagmar was dead, then where was Draco?

A hand squeezed Narcissa’s shoulder. “Come away.”

“Bella,” Narcissa gasped. “What about Draco?”

“Potter took him,” Bella replied.

Draco was at least alive then, but was he much better off? Narcissa heaved with overwhelming grief. She’d lost him again. She’d lost Dagmar forever. Did Draco know she was gone?

“Come, Cissy,” Bella insisted.

Narcissa needed a helping hand to get to her feet. She went back to the other Death Eaters. They’d removed their masks, and all were various shades of pale. Alecto and Amycus Carrow and Corban Yaxley grimaced at Narcissa. Narcissa couldn’t care less if they were made uncomfortable or felt bad for her.

Bella levitated Dagmar’s body over to where the Dark Lord’s was. She set Dagmar down and dried her off with another wave of her wand. Bella glanced at the clock up by the fireplace. Seeing as Narcissa’s world had stopped in its tracks, she couldn’t fathom that time still ticked away. The fireplace crackled.

Corban cleared his throat. “We need to go, Bella. I’m betting we’ll have less than fifteen minutes before this place is crawling with Aurors. We won’t have the element of surprise this time.”

“Soon,” Bella said. “We’ll make for the island.”

“We can’t be going back there,” Narcissa stated in disbelief.

“Where _else_ are we going to go, Cissy?” Bella snapped at her. “Just a few more minutes.”

Narcissa caught Alecto’s eye from across the way. She didn’t seem to know any better what Bella was waiting for. With a quiet heave of her broad shoulders, Alecto looked back down at the Dark Lord.

“We’re not leaving his body, are we?” Amycus was the one to ask. “Fuck, he—I didn’t think Potter would do it.”

“Me neither.”

A deep inhale on the floor drew Narcissa’s attention. She let out a sudden cry to see Dagmar’s chest fall back down. Narcissa’s attempt to drop down beside her was stilted when Bella grabbed her arm. Narcissa flinched, for the angle felt like it could have dislocated her shoulder if Bella was any less careful.

“Quit it,” she snapped at Narcissa, pulling her back. “Give him space.”

Her jaw slack and heart racing,Narcissa watched as Dagmar drew another deep, laboured breath. Her eyes shifted next, then blinked. She grimaced as she briefly closed them. Shakily, she pushed herself to sit up. She looked around at them all before her gaze fell onto the Dark Lord’s body.

“My Lord.” Bella’s grip on Narcissa lessened. “I’m sorry—please forgive me. I never thought—I never believed Potter would do that. I thought—I thought this was—”

“Hush,” Dagmar said in a quiet voice.

Bella lapsed into a tremble beside Narcissa, her breath shallow. She quietly sniffled.

Dagmar stood up like a baby deer. Narcissa backed up until she found wall, and looked at Alecto again. She appeared just as confused, as did Amycus and Corban. The three of them looked back and forth between Dagmar—no, the Dark Lord—and Bella as if an answer might be written on either of them.

The Dark Lord walked over toward the living room furniture. Tucking some of Dagmar’s hair forlornly away behind his ear, he gazed down at the dead Auror with an impassive expression. He looked back at Bella. “Where’s Harry Potter?”

Bella’s breathing shallowed further.

“Bella,” the Dark Lord prompted her, tone dangerous. “Where is he?”

“He left,” she cried. “Disapparated before I could get him. Shacklebolt—I couldn’t get an opening.”

A reptilian expression came over the Dark Lord’s face, and Narcissa was fixated by his eyes. The blue in Dagmar’s old ones, once so bright, had turned scarlet.

The Dark Lord stepped over the woman on his way to the fireplace. He bent down to pick something up in front of it. Dagmar’s plait swung forward over his shoulder, which the Dark Lord impatiently batted back into place.

He smiled. For a second before those scarlet eyes flicked up again, Narcissa saw a glimpse of Dagmar in him. “This is Potter’s wand.”

“Oh?” Bella asked.

“Let’s see if it works.” The Dark Lord pointed it at Bella. “ _Crucio_.”

Bella dropped to the floor, shrieking as she tossed about. The Dark Lord advanced, wand steady. Narcissa pressed herself anew against the wall.

“Interesting,” the Dark Lord said after breaking the curse. “Where’s mine?”

Corban started into action, stepping away from the Carrows and retrieving it from where it laid against the bottom of the stairs. Hand slightly shaking, Corban handed it over. The Dark Lord held both in his hands—his in his right, Potter’s in his left—and studied them anew with another fond smile.

It disappeared. “Get up, Bella. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Yes, my Lord.” She struggled to stand.

“You realize how lucky you are I don’t leave you for the Aurors?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Narcissa—” the Dark Lord addressed her, sending ice through her innards, “get your travel cloak. Mine and Bella’s too. We’ll need them for the journey north.”

Nodding, Narcissa headed down the hallway. She had no idea what was going on, but didn’t see any choice other than to follow instructions. She doubted she had time to stop in the toilet and toss. Holding it back by clenching her tongue, Narcissa nipped instead into the bedroom she’d shared with Bella and grabbed her cloak out of the closet.

When she returned to the living room, the Dark Lord’s old body was gone. He took his cloak and was much more certain than Bella in putting it on. It was a little too big for him now. With the hood drawn, Narcissa couldn’t tell as much that he’d returned in Dagmar’s body. The scarlet eyes were just as piercing regardless of what face they peered out of.

Narcissa followed the Dark Lord, the Carrows, Corban, and Bella out into the garden. Bodies littered it—the other Aurors. Numb, Narcissa swung a leg over the broom she would share with Bella. She wrapped her arms tight around Bella’s middle. Narcissa buried her face in Bella’s hair as means to hide from the wind. As they rose in the sky, Narcissa looked back at the shrinking cottage. Just like that, another home was broken—shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And that concludes part 3. :)
> 
> I've been working on part 4, and it's coming up on finished. I'm aiming to start posting it mid-May so that I'll have plenty of time to edit. It'll be in the 250k-300k word range and will have about 50 chapters. 
> 
> Until then, hope you and your families are well! Stay safe out there.


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